There was
something disparate of design in that journey. The desire hung like holly at Christmas, calling. I hunkered
down till the
counterfeit heat
tempted growth but it was never right.
Honestly, didn't we try? And the water, falser, there, less
satiating somehow.
Deprived of bare air, tears held and you hunted,
keen. How
is
it, I
lessened here? I dressed warmly for you, hinted a glow and
asked, finally for
return.
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