The skies would bow in shame

An ocean’s depths would drain

In envy

Of the rarest blue

A crystallic set of eyes

Periwinkle, perhaps

And the voice of a Norse god

Like rolls of rumbling thunder

Words tumbling lightly

From lips of gentle mercy,

And I,

I fizzle into a puddle



Frozen in time, or some form of that clichΓ©.
O That a first glance could strike

A thousand bolts

Through your veins and pierce your soul.

It was, something, at first sight.

And everything I never believed in.

R. A. Douglas

September 28, 2022

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