Butterfly kissing you by the river, where it started.
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Sandy strands of dishwater hair
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and raspy whispers of cotton-picked fields,
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off-white, under dry wind skies.
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The sun visits you, shorelines undone,
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waits on wading ankles in shivering pools,
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just moving on (forget me not, dear).
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God created butterfly kisses to ruin concentration,
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land in you warmer than a whisper.
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Like ivies come, comets break,
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west turns north, sends you home.
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The sun is just moving on.
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Forget me not, dear.
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Mineral Point
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The Promise Ring |