The Mix that Match

There is red in her lips
And the very light of brown
Clothed in white and black.
Still can see light skin blend her dark
hair and the air a scent I dare
smear along my nostrils, so rare,
not pure, not impure, but surely purified,
I swear.

An imperfect match
A perfect mix that catch
with a grip a heart
so used to clarity of pure uniformity
just clamor to its unison; now conformity
to new purities, cleft in twain
a sour heart to bitter and sweet.
A new taste that twist the tale of a love
story of stone to a soft touch, much of a
mix that match

Now a heart mixed in sour and bitter
and sweet, sweat off the fixed fiction
of perfection to allow another breath of
sweet felicity, bitter realities and calm days
All her charm that clamp a dumb heart to be
true to every mix of her sweet beast and
bitter beauties, accepts all as a real match of love

Now share a pair as one is fair a tangle



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