Your honey hair falls over your cheek.
Those lips come together in the colour of a rose hip.
Freckles cover your skin like floating sawdust.
And eyelids close like a golden mist.
You sit with your legs folded underneath you,
The pumpkin of your toe nails are free from the cotton cream of your skirt.
A delicate finger moves to turn another leaf of the parchment.
You cannot lift your eyes, the colour of a May morning,
Up from the page and you do not notice me,
Noticing everything about you.
Those lips come together in the colour of a rose hip.
Freckles cover your skin like floating sawdust.
And eyelids close like a golden mist.
You sit with your legs folded underneath you,
The pumpkin of your toe nails are free from the cotton cream of your skirt.
A delicate finger moves to turn another leaf of the parchment.
You cannot lift your eyes, the colour of a May morning,
Up from the page and you do not notice me,
Noticing everything about you.
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