Neila Mezynski
Curls
Funny with your bouncing off the wall energy, especially when you were dancing with her; chubby little body thrown around like feathers, about that much weightless. The sun rose and set in those smiles, yours hers. That sparkly shining stuff you do since you’ve been every rosebud.
Flying
Kissing the air with breakneck speed, ruffling feathers of the winged variety reshapin the abyss. Beautiful black curls blocking his view of the sunset rushing by.
Roses
Round belly in blue fit snug, rose sweet scent he is, black curl on the breeze in the mountain he waft. Soft.
Neila Mezynski writes when necessary.
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