I have seen her, angelic, innocence to taste,
Worn, torn, born again and denied by fate,
A touch and she fades, fading to dusk,
Surreal--her scent drifting now to the wind.
I question the dream, the reality of such,
Believing not in the things that I feel,
Whispering in my ear, reality decieves,
The dream in the waking, I wake to the dream.
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