With sundresses lining her closet and combat
boots placed diligently underneath them, this chic
woman of twenty-odd-years
is as glamorous as they come.
She’d leave her crimson hair brushing
the sides of her face,
with never a thought to tease it or toss it up.
Her lips are warm, and are as sweet as honey.
Her castled blue eyes were deeper than oceans, and
told her story better than she ever could.
A dame, she was.
Pure bohemian royalty.


About Robert L. Franklin

Ah, the About Me section - social networking's excuse for you sounding like an elitist prick. Hmm... what to say? What to say?
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