I know nothing but your beauty, your
grace
Like a pink Pescara marble pillar
In visions was Galathea released
And you could be a cold blooded killer.
You're almost perfect.
For sure they'll be no tears over this
No complications when the football's on
No vengeful face turn scorn on sorry
kiss
No callous laughing when the moment's
wrong.
No “we did not dance to my favourite
song”
No grounding bumps, back to reality
No fear of secrets hidden all along
No blue confusion of intimacy.
I know nothing but your beauty, your
grace
Nested so remote, I doubt we'll ever
meet
Any abstract trope or shade will freely trace
Pure hope, like fresh primed canvas,
incomplete
You're almost perfect.
Oh I'd ruin it if we met for real
You never disappoint, almost perfect
You're ideal.
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