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A sumptuous lounge, The deck burnished gold. Twisted in a youthful tangle, She awakes to fold a tanned calf Beneath a taut thigh. Arms extend upward and inspire A long languid yawn. Thick ebon tresses are askew In a lovely rumpled mess And beneath the lashes, the hue is one With the mid-morning sea as She pauses in a synesthetic trance To face the white sails Stark against their cerulean canvas, And she smiles at the sound of sky.
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Aug 11, 2017
Aug 11, 2017 at 6:22 PM UTC
The Sound of Sky
A sumptuous lounge, The deck burnished gold. Twisted in a youthful tangle, She awakes to fold a tanned calf Beneath a taut thigh. Arms extend upward and inspire A long languid yawn. Thick ebon tresses are askew In a lovely rumpled mess And beneath the lashes, the hue is one With the mid-morning sea as She pauses in a synesthetic trance To face the white sails Stark against their cerulean canvas, And she smiles at the sound of sky.
philip-lawrence
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Aug 11, 2017
Aug 11, 2017 at 6:22 PM UTC
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