Noah Trist

October 2, 2003 - Melbourne
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I crush a fly
In my hand.
Wearing worn out jeans
He stands.
Black denim,
Classic and basic.
He stands so gorgeous
While I lay sick.

A smile so sweet
Earnest and true,
That’s hard to beat.
When it comes to deceit
There is no trace.
No need to trace style
He has his charm and grace.

He speaks in the realm of truth
No grand delusion.
Conversation flows with pure passion
No tangled web of confusion.
Honest words, no need for illusion.

In his simplicity he’s beautifully free
A soul so genuine it’s easy to see.
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