In the brightly glowing March sun
To have been lost in a benevolent tranquil
It must be the mountain air,
that paints your face
Or is it my mind,
at a confluence in witness
If you were at an arms length,
While I would wish
There is only utter failure I gauge,
for me and my words
To stutter and stammer,
mid speech, even at greeting
Lost in stare,
watching how the oxidized earrings sway
Knowing me,
I would have spoken of colours
Overly and mindfully jealous
of your embroidered blue dress
Only to be at a lapse
to fumble at making sentences
While your eyes look at me
Dissolving me into nothingness
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