I have become married as of late to the sound of the sea the quaint, desperate keen of drowned souls and walking widows An hour too late I found myself upon my own rooftop parapet searching not for long-lost husbands but long-lost breath
Comment of disillusioned dreamery and your words are neither small nor ordinary nor simple nor apathetic. Nightly earth tremors will always drive blood like ours to rise from death into icey breath just to jot down lines for no one. PS I wrote a poem for you.
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Comment of disillusioned dreamery and your words are neither small nor ordinary nor simple nor apathetic. Nightly earth tremors will always drive blood like ours to rise from death into icey breath just to jot down lines for no one. PS I wrote a poem for you.
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