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Apr 22
Her hair’s dark, curled up in mystery.
Her heart — as pure as a kid’s.
Her smile: ineffable.
Her skin shines, even at night.

Her presence lifts the bluest rooms.
Her laughs echo, even in vacuum.
Her thoughts — like snow.
Her lips the perfect shade of pink.

Her kindness softens the hardest hearts.
Her fashion: glamorous.
Her eyes: amber.
Her voice — one of angels.

Her hugs are filled with warmth.
Her perfume, made of jasmines.
Her shadows — flowers bloom.
Her touch: exciting.
Her name? Unique.

She inhales hate, exhales love.
She is amazing, auspicious, addictive.
She is my food, my air, my reason to exist.
She doesn't know these.
A butterfly can't see its own colours.
And she doesn't know her impact of her presence
She is the butterfly and I am admiring her beauty.
Aaamour
Written by
Aaamour  17/M/cœur
(17/M/cœur)   
219
     Pagan Paul, Agnes de Lods and Aaamour
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