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a poem about a walk
I meet your eye and speak rivers
of whatever like nothing when
your lips bring waterfalls to
my head as if no supple
subtlety could pop the
bubbles pouring from the
ceiling to your nape. ...
of whatever like nothing when
your lips bring waterfalls to
my head as if no supple
subtlety could pop the
bubbles pouring from the
ceiling to your nape. ...
