this love starved heart of mine

to not wrench your morning fragrance,
i lean softly upon your inflamed wrath
letting this love-starved heart of mine
to migrate inside you enthusiastically,
pleasant to arouse you, and to listen to
my minute, springing up within forever
through the field of wildflowers bathed
into nights of loving, of passions, of us


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tell me something beautiful, she said, — (∂ + m) ψ

give me a reason

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