Something about love.
.
.
.
.
E
l wind caresses my face now, I bring your perfume
distant
and I feel closer
that when you possess.
makes me aƱorarte,
imagine,
and so pure and ethereal
fills my inside which the wind.
Lies It is nice love
mystical, spiritually, but you
love you above or below or within
side.
raw and hungry!
Now the wind brings me back your memory
while I spoil my sad
silly thoughts and I stroked her hair while I sleep, in dreams
.
.
.
.
.
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