By Don Kingfisher Campbell


I guess I will turn into a cloud

Maybe then you’ll notice I float

Over the present of your presence

Or possibly a painting for sale

Featuring the childlike colors

Of elementary love I offer

Even better I’ll be a vase

So I can live close to you

Watch you go through your day

No, I’ve got it, nothing bests

Being your bed, for I may get to

Touch your soft skin every night

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