And the soreness become my paramour,

Darling, I Made You Up

The scars that swoon beneath the beauty of marriage,
One and only cackling that left in your every grimace,
Dreaming and a dream of your room,
A song from the fairy of the falsest time,
Whenever our headsets joined in unity of vanity,
Wherever the cranky and flirtatious dancing,
Darling, you know that I miss you in this cramp of love,
Although the wound trying to sing,
And the soreness become my paramour,
I shall not feed until my last breast falls away,
We’ll be droning all night together,
On one lovely purple feather …

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