| she's a poetess who masks fantasies beneath her alluring eyes, convulsing in soul so she may empty her persuasion while dwindling hours feel for their pulse the secrets in her laden heart, calm and pretty by the trickling of her pouring tears, often escape to the canvas' face (because she's more of an artist than anything) and sacrifice their purity for her audience's circulating delight she's a poetess-- one who has seldom known the truth of love nor has ever felt the breath of a lover against her silken flesh (and who has only thought to draw out her deepest yearnings) but oh, at intervals like honey i sense i can honestly say, for her seducing gift alone, that i love her... this desirable poetess. |
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