By m. paolo macariola
Watching you speak,
i know that
surely
there is magic
the way your words
hover and levitate
against the gravity
around us,
its syllables gently
falling
into petals
that will sprout into flowers
as soon as they
hit the ground
and who knows?
i just might pick them up
the moment you start
brushing your hair
with the sun's rays
or as soon as
you get distracted
by the butterflies
flouncing everytime
you flutter
those eyelashes
and if you ever catch me
stooping for your flowers,
you'd just look at me
and smile.
then surely
it would be magic
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