trina-lyubovWhisper

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Tiny Spectacle of LoveEvery once in a while / we chance upon a / s n o w f l a k e

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He and IHe and I— / We're much alike: / Both lonely, both unloved.

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After the EndingI still feel that sense / of rapture. / Somehow all this

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467

My Dream, a MemoryIt slipped my mind what year it was: / A time where rains slashed relentlessly / Against sliding glass windows.

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