From a high tech funnel, her soothing voice,
I can hear.
Her tone says my eyes and hands will be blessed, not by noise,
If I appear.
And I will.
But I fear.
She isn't real.
Why? Because even after we spend all day and night,
Entwined, flipping, twisting, being new people,
And exchanging silk glances of love with eyes brown and bright.
I know we will part, she's not mine but we share souls.
And no one else has seen her? To miss such a sight!
"She's perfect! But no one is perfect," I think in fresh daylight.
Then I invented her. What about our love? Mind's gestation:
I do love. I have fallen in love with my own imagination.
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