moogismaximus
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You’re a mirage, my love.
I can’t tell you and the sky apart.
Is this some trick of the light? The eyes, mind, or heart?
Or are you a mural, my love? A work of ART.
A stepping stone, my love? My end and my start.
You’re a soft bed of grass,
Sans the bugs, briers, and burrs
That have plagued me before.
You are secluded from the cityscape,
But not lacking in excitement.
In solitude someplace,
