In the gallary of my dreams

In the gallary,
Of my dreams,
I mould your sculpture,
It is quite hard to blend,
The frgnance of your rosy youth,
With your eyes resplendent,
While shaping your cheeks,
I end up making your silky hair,
Entangled,
Setting your hair,
Your eye lashes are disturbed,
Infuriated with myself,
I twist my fingers,
So passes the night,
Nights are the same,
So often is the case,
Your thoughts keep me awake,
But your sculpture,
I cannot make.

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