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Aug 2015
The starry lit clouds
shy and shinny
captured on the
nearby cherry tree branches

reflected your Apollo locks glitter
you pressed me on a barren trunk
your torso became a burning tree
trying to cool in a pond full of lava

Your tongue played rose~***
mary magic ~on white satin hills.
My back hurt a bit, scratched,
the blouse finger blown, open.

And then. . . the real tempo started to begin. . .
Imagined by
Impeccable Space
Poetic lover
Impeccable Space Poetess
Written by
Impeccable Space Poetess  Lifeβ™‘Love
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