31/March/2017 Friday, 7.41 pm

Your name is a meadow;
The most luscious, warm, and atmospheric shade of green I’ve ever been too.
There’s a river floating in the middle of your initial,
a sweetness running in your consonant,
and a punch of earthy taste in the raspiness of your voice.

I felt a tickle on my body when you scratch your hips,
a subtle scent of trees at the sight of your face,
a splash of juniper every time someone mentions your fame.

Your name is a meadow;
The most serene bed of grasses and lavender.
Your vowels are as gold as 4PM sun,
dimly lit and delicate.

And your combination of letters make
the most melancholy view inside my head.
I’d love to run through your name
even if we don’t share the same fondness of landscapes.

Your name will remain a meadow even after you let me go.

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