Preston Brooks Fine Art

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Her Name is Love:



Her name is Love.

She reminds me of

the first time that I

fell in love.


The little white dress

brought something back.

I feel the chill

shoot up my neck.


A memory

I recollect,

a dozen years

coming back.


I was so much

different then,

bit of an ass,

not much of a man,


But just a boy,

only fifteen.

The girl, the prettiest

I'd ever seen.


Her name is Love,

I know it well,

but I never

learned how to fall.


To call her Love

would be an honor,

but I know I'll never

get to have her.


She bathes in

a brighter light,

captured in

the public eye.


Me, I'm just

an up an comer,

wishing I could

hold on tighter


To the tail

of a comet.

I reach but my hands

pass right through it.


Because I may admire

this girl called love,

but I miss the one

she reminds me of.



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