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Oct 2013
the edges of his cupid’s bow lips quirked
up with the rising sun and I thought that perhaps
I had been shot by one of his arrows—
young love, young cherub,
how reckless we are.
drabbles everywhere
Taylor St Onge
Written by
Taylor St Onge  F/Milwaukee
(F/Milwaukee)   
667
   sleeplessnxghts, ---, --- and Lewis
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