March 29, 2012
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Floating feeling, flyly high-ing,?
The shifting moves forever driving,
Like pitter patter, rainy crying,
For lighter dealings, I’m dryly dying.
The rhythmicity, the golden drift,
The delicacy of her sacred gift,
She entices my heart, my soul along with,
Alas, her soft divinity, a blissful myth.

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