the rustle of leaves is therapeutical,
the early sunlight falling on snow,
the woman talking and talking into my face,
the silence of her words is comforting,
as they fade into the air.
don’t ask why,
for it leads us astray.
the pheromone of the feminine
what does it awake within,
that no other object can.
the masterpiece of nature,
with the undeniable pull of the beauty,
she floats around unaware,
as the clock ticks by
on another routine day.
as the light of passion shines,
often the clay of rationality crumbles,
under the weight of its own assumptions.
when the truth gets naked,
the time gets warped,
the irrational desire overwhelms,
the obstacle becomes the new goal,
and makes me fumble along the way.
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