her coiling tendrils weave a net
and it catches me by the ankle
she is not what I expected
we have red dresses and checkered shirts
at this point I have lost track
of who wears what
I could not care less --
she shines through her clothes
either way, and I am sunbathing
she may not see the green
in my eyes or kiss me back,
but I am happy to stay
here where her meadow grows
with nets and snares
between the grasses
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