Her existence demands a myth that writes itself.
Her gaze, an invention of beauty in the eyes of who can view
A haze that shies away when she arrives
I lie to myself an unfamiliar dream

But she’s not a dream but its shadow
An eerie mirage of blues mixed with wines I can’t pronounce
She holds secrets that are a heist of my underlying emotions
Maybe that’s why when we meet I can’t remember if I did

An unfamiliar face with a familiar persona
I try to find her in every woman I chance upon
Therapy doesn’t help, neither does living or sleep
That’s why I dream awake writing because she only exists here.
Here in my imitation of a dream.

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