You are my prose poem, and the beautiful words jump in the pages, which intoxicates my soul. The language of this poem keeps my imagination expanding.
You are my prose poem. I put it on the bookshelf and lay beside the bed. When you are tired, lean on the pillow and quietly appreciate your indifference, so that your soul can be purified in the spring water and washed in the drizzle.
You are my prose poem. There is a pleasant feeling when I read you, like combing distant thoughts, looming, although I can't find a clue, it's not messy.
Your smile fell into my eyes, turned into a beautiful essay and floated into two beautiful poems. I was ecstatic when I found you. You seem to fall from the sky, and fairy tales fill my world. I felt lonely when I reached out to catch you. You seem to have walked out of the Book of Songs and come to the water's edge.
You and I are in a rough mood. You climb mountains and mountains, and I sweat like rain. When you walked ten miles through the jungle, I heard birds singing; When you crossed the Yangtze River and the Yellow River, my clothes were wet by the river.
Your dance drives me to spin, spin ... dizzy, I only vaguely find you still lying on my page, because ...
You are my prose poem, my fairy tale and my peach blossom. ...