title
the sweet of those
ever carnivorous
of your front teeth
that are still babyish
and so cute
and underneath
that
I am so still fond
of your history,
there's this
chance,
that was taken.
Mathematician
cannot ever explain,
the calculations
the new of
limbs so smooth.
And eyes
lighter than
dark
of your glassy
super sparkling
comprehend,
hair so new and
without knots
and take em over
BUT KEEP
them in all in line,
beetroots are sweet
but grassy greens
are less than
satisfying
to the emotions
of the smoothing blues
of waters and emotions
and browns and relaxation
are more to satisfy
to the hypnotizing
and guilt of free,
as she's the bee...
Then the blues
will write the poetry
when their machines
will one day be breaking
like its a coop of nothing.
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