The tenure of your escalation
in striking, wist-full appeal;
broke into my heart's site of excavation
spreading a toxin of quintessent feel.
"The wind! You!" Enchanté.
A hug, in remembrance of past curtesy,
done with you as mon grand idée... -
Smiling, with the soul's ticking uncertainty;
sweeping my predilections into corners, dark;
and so, romantic thoughts occur,
as I look into Beauty's eyes when they spark:
perhaps, it is I, whom your heart does also prefer.
Selite:
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