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SteelHands · 61-69, M
She thinks beauty is myth.
Of course she does.
No forest names itself tree.
In self adoration.
Profanity.
Beautiful specimen she..
Hoisting my tired soldier.
Unslumbered so easily..
Mere turn of a corner of a sternly hid smile.
Attached to that fluid form
Moved across sheets soft and warm.
Must be formed by angels of the morning.
And at a score and twenty.
Was no more.
Forlorn.
Left faithless without faith
even in love
for having learned
hers to roam
Finally ended up alone.
There is only a lousy no more reply: Everything for naught. All is vanity.
Of course she does.
No forest names itself tree.
In self adoration.
Profanity.
Beautiful specimen she..
Hoisting my tired soldier.
Unslumbered so easily..
Mere turn of a corner of a sternly hid smile.
Attached to that fluid form
Moved across sheets soft and warm.
Must be formed by angels of the morning.
And at a score and twenty.
Was no more.
Forlorn.
Left faithless without faith
even in love
for having learned
hers to roam
Finally ended up alone.
There is only a lousy no more reply: Everything for naught. All is vanity.