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croob
Poems
Apr 2018
Ode to *****
Oh, *****,
the one I rode
in my old country abode.
Though of length you had a dearth,
I shan’t soon forget your girth,
the warmth of that width a stone-lined hearth.
To wrap my hand around your body
was a breeze; overall you weren’t too shoddy,
and I could hold you with such ease.
Written by
croob
23/usa
(23/usa)
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