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by Paige DeRosa

Were you to brush my brow,
with lips most soft in feel,
ne'er would I want to wake,
from a dream so real.

You stroll beside the river,
I take your hand in mine,
our fingers touch but gently,
a moment lost in time.

Our lips at last do meet,
as shades of noontide fade,
lost in a sea of passion,
my fears are soon unmade.

You take me in your arms,
run fingers down my cheek,
a touch so chaste, so simple
I cannot dare to speak.

Our paths were meant to cross,
I've waited long and true,
Were you e'er to call my name,
I would come to you.

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