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Mar 2014
"the sun won't hear a thing" you said in that humid voice of yours
as i sat between your legs (for a change) and thought "no, the sun usually doesn't care for us"
the view we shared was timid and raw
like the way your top lip wrinkled every time we spoke of future
dreamed of committing sins, letting loose of grins
"i hear your" you said, as i did not reply
"you are a veil, i am your pride"
Written by
   rained-on parade
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