Who knew beautiful has a smell, as love has a soul.
As a bee makes honey, so shall they procreate.
Mini is the truth that's born so identical to the original.
So none could truly compare to its fitted mate.
Love, so inexplicably fickle and fragile.
As a tickled plume from flightless flocks fluffed feathers.
Featured in hats or famously filled fat plush pillows for naps.
Love is something like that, busting through the seems.
Wood grains with new car scent, leather, fog lights, and halogen high beams.
Popuri like stringed trees dangle from a rearview.
Heated pinecones in a breeze saplings in fresh cut spring grass.
An artist paintbrush, first stroke on a new canvas.
As familiar as deja vu, a flash into a past future, so is a couple with love.
In love, noticing all its astonishing view.
Wishfully wondering who knew, beautiful had a smell.
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