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6. The Mowers Part III

The mowers have left an uncut patch
where the riders park their bikes in the rack.

Your eyes have always held me in their grip.
When the years come between us,
your eyes will be what I remember.
The sun is warm on our skin
and the fresh cut grass tickles us.
You lie next to me,
your hand resting on my chest,
playing with the buttons of my shirt.
Everyday should be like this,
you and I together, my arm around you,
your head on my shoulder,
your sweet cheek touching mine in our embrace.
Your eyes have always sought out mine,
and I belong in your eyes.

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