Allsorts of Stuff

So many crushes . . .

Imagination drove me to go through and see them, one by one aside me

The gothic one, in black lace I always picture her, kindred spirits could we have been

The young, broad speaker, in baby pink, a little slutty but with sense of innocence and fun

The eastern delight, definitely in red, the cheeky smile, too far to reach

A closer princess of not long ago, no colours I recall, just style and a face I never get bored of

More recently a pair from the cold lands, one with which colours do not matter, just those wise eyes

Then I hazard a guess, the other in baby blue with stockings striped black and white, the surprise blonde

I am but torn by one so cute, an american in yellow, one to smoke with were that path mine to take for sure

Then imagination fails me somewhat, I see the last as she is, cleavage and smile, a woman to walk the mountains with as once said by heroes of old. Curves and a deep sadness I can never hope to heal only cradle best I can

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