Kite Tails…

Summer.
The meadow so full of poppies
red lake rippling in the noon day sun.

You like a child caught on some
artists canvas.
Yellow dress – flying your laughter
kite tail and streamers.

Was it really just make believe?
Burnt fingers
Lessons learned
My now, lonely; educated heart.

I surface my horizons for air
she of such delicate scent,
only stands to stare
I adore your margins –
placed to perfection.

Forgive me my measured reaction
haste always makes mistakes.
Come close your face
in a thousand, tender imaginings
I’d settle for, just one:
If, that one – you would let me keep…

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