Oh, her raven hair tied with a white scrunchie
how it shimmered like night around the
  moon.
I longed to weave
wild daisies & cherry bloom
Thru her touch
thro' those strands, soft as love letter
  never sent.

Then perhaps my dream
  like a mad, golden butterfly
would flit, dance and burn on those blossoms
  brief, bright & utterly hers.