He is fine

He is fine like soft purple silk, like a rain of flower petals. He is glorious to look at lucky to experience such beauty and sedate my mind for a bit. then I forget the box I live in foul smell of my street, the cycle of thrive pattern of withering affections and forced contentment. I am deserving of more, I know even more when I see him. So I look from corners, veils in-between strangers on the street when laughters lighten the burden, and suddenly when he says hello. _Maryjane.