her sad face reflects the pull of gravity,
approximately 9.8 meters per second per second...
at first sight, a slight rapture, those definition of sad eyes and circumstance
seduced the inchoate youth and inculcated a love of the dark, exotic, damaged...
i still, after these man years of awkward introduction, bow the flesh and head to the dirt in and of delight for the memory of her war burdened moisture and vim and vigor. all the weight of my bleeding and breathing sadness will be a sacrifice to you... sweet water, flower child...
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