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I
I like all colors of four o'clocks blooming In the manicured garden outside your house. Paintbrushes and dark opaque bottles aside, I brought out a clean slate for you To carve eight letters with a sharpened knife. You're a circle of affection perched on head Tell tale emotions straight from my heart, My shelves are stacked with literature Those dramatic, Shakespearean love sonnets An aching dark blue Woolf's last letter, So I compared you to my brightest days.
II You stare at my reflection in the stone pool Around the fountain, a second too long, I'm forever pretending I didn't walk to you. We are always at the same place, same time, Our mutual friends pick up on what we ignore Situations throw us in a claustrophobic space, It pinches at the skin on my heart. You kiss my cheek under the moonlight So close to my lips, in front of my door Leave me with a promise of see you later, So I compare you to my brightest days.
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