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You Are Not
You are not beautiful, you are not fine.
Those tiny wrinkles are but lines.
The dimple at your mouth is deep,
You spray a little when you speak.
Sometimes I find your point quite lame,
Listen, listen, all the same.
Never ending, never changed,
If we’d have waited, we’d have aged.
You’re grace does not remind me of,
A perfect swan, a soaring dove,
A kneeling deer, a tilting rose,
To them you are but wilted prose.
If I’d have made you sing a tune,
It would have been true misfortune,
For with the tone and talent there,
It’s more a case of talent-bare.
And yet, I cannot place an end,
I cannot mask or play pretend,
I‘d find it hard to full deny,
That without these faults my eyes would cry.
I’d miss their oddity and whim,
I love them thickly, love them dim.
They place the smile on my face,
They take me to a perfect place.
I haven’t told you of my thoughts,
I’m scared of how they would be bought.
But know that somewhere, sometime near,
I’ll whisper all into your ear.
Amor Vincit Omnia
x <3 x
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