Perfect Stranger

Perfectly, seeming is that face in dreaming,

a passerby stealing a glance

stops as if in trance,

Who is this lady with such light as to make her shadow dance?

No name, no place, no nostalgia to trace,

of no one known could resemble that face.

To approach? To Refreign?

To dream in the shade,

of a day when her face can be placed with a name?

Or is it better to never know?

Things known are flaws shone,

Only an unknown is where my hopes have flown

pretending this stranger is perfection never ending.

No wrong word bending the light her eyes send me.

As she stands is perfect.

The risk of encounter is not worth it.

So I stay at a distance, and remain unseen,

marveling, how this face with no name is my grandest dream.


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