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I used to dream of wings,golden-brown and beautiful, strongenough to carry me high abovethe clouds to where the sun’s warmthcould wash freely ov..
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Some days, I want to swallowstacks of your pictures, just so thatyou can be a part of me for alittle while longer. I want you tobite my lip until I ca..
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I want to start by beinghonest: I am not a love poet.In fact, every time I try to write aboutlove, my hands cramp, just to remindme of how painful lov..
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June hits me like the sunafter a thunderstorm, whenthe dampness still hangs in the airlike a weighted blanket. It is warmthafter a cold night, brightn..
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