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You sound like a seashell. You fall too fast and too hard. I want to catch you, but I'm full of secrets. Closing your eyes and nodding your head. You are a delicacy too  sweet for me. I will lick your fingers and roll into a cave. I am a mouse, but the bad kind. Squeaking and stealing and running. Your bones are light and I will play fiddlesticks on them.
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Apr 21, 2012
Apr 21, 2012 at 12:17 PM UTC
This Isn't Supposed to Be Poetic
You sound like a seashell. You fall too fast and too hard. I want to catch you, but I'm full of secrets. Closing your eyes and nodding your head. You are a delicacy too  sweet for me. I will lick your fingers and roll into a cave. I am a mouse, but the bad kind. Squeaking and stealing and running. Your bones are light and I will play fiddlesticks on them.
ruth-forberg
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Apr 21, 2012
Apr 21, 2012 at 12:17 PM UTC
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