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Infinite Monkeys. Infinite Typewriters.
More in Words, paradoxes, metaphors...you name it they all come alive in poetry or prose. Swaying Hips Speak to the Lipsa villanelle
Place your sweet kiss on my anxious pink lips, I wait to taste the gentleness of bliss, Soft clouds dance across the sky making dips I imagine your touch, soft fingertips, Whisper softly that nothing's missed, Around the full moon, a twinkling start flips, |
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