I was sick with experience,
Hungover from too much time.
And there she appeared.
I hadn’t before seen her never,
However, I surrendered;
She was my forever.
She was almost perfect.
No. She was.
Short but moderate tousled blond hair;
The face of a porcelain strangel. So sad;
The gleaming paragon of melancholia.
She was wearing a ragged sheer white sundress.
No pattern. Slight weathering.
Anyone could see everything.
And no one cared.
Especially her, as if she didn’t even know.
I don’t think she did.
Her skin—so white—with a yellow hue.
She was a bit dirty.
So was I.
We kissed and entwined our minds in sigh;
A sin to skin immediate high.
So smooth—so pure—awash en amor.
I was made with some of the missing pieces to her puzzle.
Still, something was misplaced—by the gods—in haste.
She was troubled.
I didn’t know what to do,
So I followed her right out of my dream….
Into the sheer….
I carried her things and we disappeared.
Dream, girl, dream girl