At my first sight of him,
I saw such a benevolence,
the Cuban youth with mocha skin
and bright root beer-brown eyes,
he only loved me,
I, a frivolous woman.
He was nineteen, I was twenty-two,
his steadfast devotion of heart,
my UK heritage fire.
How I wish I could send him a message
through the timelessness of poetry,
breathed into his dreams by an angel,
to...
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