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Where the Moon Blooms and Cherries Whisper
Come with me to the meadow,
where ripe cherries, like silent red hearts,
await the sweetness of your mouth.
Would you murmur your greeting, a breath,
soft against the night’s waiting lips,
as I cradle your sword —
its...
where ripe cherries, like silent red hearts,
await the sweetness of your mouth.
Would you murmur your greeting, a breath,
soft against the night’s waiting lips,
as I cradle your sword —
its...
