free to fly high.

Cafuné: to run your fingers through your lovers hair; one of the few words that cannot be translated into English from Brazilian-Portugese

She’s nothing like I’ve ever experienced

Her with that “hippie-girl” smile

The inner dilemma of an over-proportioned brilliance

My sweet and independent flower-crowned queen

Whispers, “Maybe we were born to be wild and crazy”

“Or just free,” as my mind races me clean

To practice cafuné and dance in the spotlights

Gaze in angry eyes

Watching her dance in the dead of night

“Maybe I was born for the city,” as the salty sunset pinches our skin

A highway of swaying birdmen and her a untrainable freedom

A gypsy among soldiers with no place to begin

Her soul camouflaged well until I saw her go insane

Old Polaroid images and broken tattoo’s

My old heart likes her crazy– no more chameleon soul with slow pain

It breaks me inside to see the glass statue fall

Evanescence, of sorts

A ripped and painted in her life’s own music hall

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About dawsoleh

Pre-Vet at University of Lethbridge, hopeful 17-year-old writer, alternative music fanatic, an over thinker at heart. Mayfair, Saskatchewan, Canada
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