March 16, 2010
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Love, a wilting,
decrepit flower,
whose scent ever
smelt so dully
bittersweet, clings
to our breathe
as we mingle words,
crooning lies filled
with foolish desire,
neglecting a withering
sense of fullness.
But, surely enough,
as these lustful
passions leave my
thoughts, tempting me
not, we dive into the
seemingly endless
depth of our bonds,
melding together
as one hand
nursing our fruit
of companionship
healthy once more.

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