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Jan 11
she sped down the hill;
the cool wind flying through her hair and dancing
on her creamy, golden skin.

speckled with freckles,
her smooth hands gripped the handle bars
of her bike.

the machine seemed to quiver
under her fingers and
being a little old and rusty,
let her fly
on oiled springs
and rubber pedals.
written while listening to landslide by fleetwood mac
Written by
amelia  F/london
     Millie, Seanathon and SPT
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