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Overseas
The moon shivers above us like a brassy knob on
the blue and glod drawr of the sky. Your eyes are cool and crisp like icy spring
lettuce, and oyur arms are the warm cotton of a woven blanket. Your song is of mangos
and oceans; of faraway lands where trees tower over buildings and children play in
pools of sunlight. Where men and women are content with just sitting. Where you close
your eyes, and you listen to an orchestra of birds and frogs, and crickets play lonley
melodies of a lost love. Where words ride on waves, climb banana trees, walk down
dusty roads and thrive on the simplicity of perfection. As we say goodbye, the sianara
kiss falls sweet like sugar, and wavers in the air like a feather.