Her. 

I lay in purgatory not because of death 

but because 

of sleep 
My ceiling

swirls together 

as my eyelids 

hang weighted 

I crave for

Her touch
The foreign

yet so accustomed 

feeling 

of Her skin

from when

she shivered

goosebumps 

prickled
Her inner self

a true 

Picasso

one of many 

vibrant colors

and peaceful 

rain spells
Mona Lisa 

holds

no comparison 

to the 

alluring and 

delightful 

aura of 

Her
I want 

nothing more

than to be

with Her
To caress

Her tanned 

cheek and 

declare 

my undying love 

through this 

feeling of 

purgatory 

furthermore

to settle 

with Her in 

a state 

of exhilaration 

For she

is mine 

and

I am

Hers 
Purgatory knows 

no real suffering 

than the simplicity 

of yearning 

for the one 

whom you

love the most

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