For decades, the debris
of bored, unmoored hope.
Ordered: a brace of fullness.
Fulfilled: bits of loneliness.
Now there are these loves
for thousands of stories or
prayers. I never surrender/
care for myself this way
_
oh, these needles of rain the skies are full of surprises my only choice of speech is a quiet, topographical melody for I bring us to fors...
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