Martas poems for Monday, November 18, 2013

Monday, November 18, 2013

I knew him well...

He was an artist Green as the fresh born grass in the meadows were his eyes as they shone with the brilliance of a thousand suns. When he looked at you, you felt nothing else existed but his glance and the world was yours if he said to you: "Bonne chance!" His smile had the power to seduce and enchant, white and perfect teeth contrasted with the caramel shade of h is skin and somehow, without a word, he could invite stranger's lips to smile back at him. He walked tall and erect... always looking... Sign in to see full entry.

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