Fresh

You are; my Love, as blue
as the vivid sky
on a clear day,
and as sheepish
as the passing clouds
are white and
full of cotton fluff;
you are; as fresh
as the freshly washed
linen hangs,
from the clothesline,
that I and the Wind
run through to press
our faces to; you,
who smells so clean
and new; my Love, you are.

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