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Jan 2012
You are my type
The time is ripe
The time for the harvest
No time to rest
The fruit is glistening in the trees
Sweet summer breeze
Sunlight streaming
Smiles gleaming
Minds dreaming
Subconsciousness screaming
Feet in the softgreenmoist grass
Time no longer seems to pass
I'm reaching critical mass
Your soft sweet smile
Your charm and guile
You've got style
Your eyes burn with such intensity
Such perfect density
Patrick McCombs
Written by
Patrick McCombs  26/M
(26/M)   
1.6k
 
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