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Aug 2015
A birds singing only sounds so sweet on a Sunday morning.
It's a pleasant alarm to wake up in your arms.
The sun peeking through a blanketed face.
I'm here to spoil your breakfast.
Together we exist.
Bound at the wrist.
For your piece of chocolate you can't resist.
Except I really do melt in your hands.
Written by
Thescientist  CA
(CA)   
590
   SPT and Mysterious Aries
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