a doubt trickles and minds submit to the early morning mist. this world so soon, grasping for a flash across the canvas of the brain. so i see. crackling sticky sweet as i move, it moves beneath me, sliding its dripping lips along my calf, then down. win the world.
Reason for writing:
The season of the sun, the moon, the coolness of mist
against the flesh.
Birth sign: Not entered
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