the museum was a treasure chest of art
with gems even the most rugged pirates could covet.
behold, they provided a feast for the eyes
bearing the sweetest nectar from the most exquisite wildflowers,
demanding their eyes to devour it.

but his eyes were fixed on the greatest work of art.
he only had eyes for her,
for she was his lighthouse in the stormiest tempest
when not even the finest map could guide him home.

they strolled through the maze of the museum
passing by the masterpieces.
one by picasso,
another by van gogh,
but he could have sworn that he had heard them weep
because she was the masterpiece that they couldn’t keep.


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