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Oct 2019
Golden Hips.
Sealed with silver, molten edges.

Electrum lips.
Beckoned whips into searing sintered sedges.
I hate this poem The more folks that like this, the more basal of knowledge I find out what my audience is. My garbage 2 poem stanzas clearly appeal to those who love themselves but prefer not to read.
T R S
Written by
T R S  29/M
(29/M)   
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