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If I were a bird, I'd have flown
To your grave each day
Sharing grains of life.
I once met a pumpkin,
not orange or round,
It loved me despite its
unconventional form.
It saw me as a mango,
warm to the core,
though he didn't ripen,
my belly with his love.
I call this episode
a septum of nature.
Sun curtained the
moon, with thoughts
of you, a grave of gold,
built in air.
The star is buried.
You're here within,
a frame of bones.
Love once,
squealled here.
Now silence,
kingdoms. ♡
She's under
Cinderella's
spellbound night.
The reality will
seep in soon.
Milk and mustard flowing
freely from her *******,
A sign of summer's
sensual ripeness.
Nectar spills, seeping into
the polka dots, of her
brasserie.
She unclothes herself,
As summer's fiery
passion stirs her fingers,
Finding joy
In bare truths.
The seeds of
possibility are within you.
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