Like the white butterfly
cheese is white and off white
medieval village was pensive
the hardworking farmers
the meadows with tulips
grazed on by cattle
snacking on the snow flakes
gulping dew drops as shots
I stood on the mountain top
almost touching the sky
I waited for the Clouds of Sils Maria
To engulf me like it did to us
A long time ago, hand in hand
nose to nose, in a sweaty cinema
When art became us
truer than life itself.

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