Her
Her I wanted more than anything
Her image clear and fuzzy in my head
Her sensational eyes and beaming gaze
Her love for books and stories of another.
Especially at night she was so clear
I was sure
When I went out she’d be bumping into me
So I remained
To hold her in
The sureness of her perfection
And look at her until I fell asleep.
She was the reason to keep up
With youth, sockets spilling over eyes, beer
Stuff my senses with versions of her
The reason for toss without settle
For whom other than her would I,
Ever, in this life, take.
In any other poem she would be not human
But to myself, she may.
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