Flowers in the Attic.
Through the twirls of my minds whorls,
I saw the sun bouncing off your shiny curls.
Unlocking the dungeons in the attics deep below
Things Had not thrown off long before.
Some garage sales are just not meant to be.
You keep the most precious pearls hidden
Under the front windows plant pot seat.
Memories are funny, they have a mind of their own,
They can be crisp as if happened a minute back,
Trapping the smell of the sea breeze salt.
Just not that the bent of your neck,
The silhouette of your soul,
As it fell on mine,
As the evening grew long.
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