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| Mystic_tears |
Apr 11, 2004, 02:01 AM
Post
#1
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Unregistered |
In the quiet winds of night,
or in the fields of snow where once the wildflower grew, where the white hot music was written to silence, the celebration of your breath is over. Nothing, nothing more erotic that gunning for your touch. Nothing, nothing as sensual as your love, that shadows my existence. |
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| Lo-Fi Version | Time is now: 25th May 2013 - 11:35 AM |