At rainy Lisdoonvarna your red hair was a flare
which guided us to your side
through multi-sensory squalls
when the crowd’s swell parted our company.
I view this photo, perceive the melancholy,
and see the longing now;
to which those ever sparkling eyes,
and my self-hatred had blinded me.
When they find that quantum is bunkum,
I’ll travel there again and tell you
that i am a fool;
that you are a jewel; then
touch your hand,
and see what flares.
Copyright © Perry McDaid | Year Posted 2014
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