He took a picture of me
as I crouched precariously close to a stream
or improbably pretty swamp
taking pictures of small frogs
and all I can figure
is that he finds me especially beautiful
when I forget myself and simply am myself
spreading my whims like wings
like how he smiled in the moonlight with the magick of myths and fairytales
the time I chased a prehistoric sized moth
across a parking lot and into the grass
dancing unabashedly through the spotlight of his headlights.
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