Alive Is this Love Letter

Alive Is this Love Letter - To Her Mousesy Blonde. The unknown creature.

It’s my error, a pure quagmire of words, ain’t it? Suffice to say I drift away, peeling the day back layer by layer, watching what trembles somewhere out there in the marsh, Maire.

I dream up bad words and broken stories, hoping I might still capture rapture, yet knowing any snog from me would be pure snot when it comes to charming her wispy heart.

Caught anyway by shrines love-divine, I distract my own mind and pour out every last drop of it into lore.
Every sound, every signal, every sight and scrap of experience dies; utterly killed; by the mere sight of her. I stiffened.

The pure thing.
A divinity of love, hope, aspiration and every wish her heart ever dared desire. You are such a fool of a sailor's demise. The blackened width of thought. The early rise of hope. The shallow space, derision, that despised at failed imagination, black and bleak, deep down thoughts, always running through, to tomorrow and yesterday, that wish of life you can’t escape. She drifts into my world with every breath she takes, wood on a beach shaken by every wave of sight she makes, I rumble around her world, caught in a love poem, driven by everything she means to be.

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