Streaks of crimson and gold.

An aura
Beauteous than Venus’s own
Radiated warmth of the summer old.

If I were rain,
She was the most awaited, fall.
If I were a river
She was the Euryale.

Lecherous eyes
Skipped from word to word.
Under the pale moonshine
She was what they cleped
A mockingbird.

A stray strand of hair
Swayed by her eyes.
She was the ‘woods’
Of which Frost writes.

Elegant as an Asphodel
In full bloom by the Styx.
Neume for those in life
Who search for music.

I know less but that was it
And that’s where all my love met.
I know more but that’ll be.
For, she will always be
My Juliet.


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