Greeting Card Maker | Poem Art Generator

Free online greeting card maker or poetry art generator. Create free custom printable greeting cards or art from photos and text online. Use PoetrySoup's free online software to make greeting cards from poems, quotes, or your own words. Generate memes, cards, or poetry art for any occasion; weddings, anniversaries, holidays, etc (See examples here). Make a card to show your loved one how special they are to you. Once you make a card, you can email it, download it, or share it with others on your favorite social network site like Facebook. Also, you can create shareable and downloadable cards from poetry on PoetrySoup. Use our poetry search engine to find the perfect poem, and then click the camera icon to create the card or art.



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Wedged Is The Hip Splitter
By my parting of these words, these certain very words. Herein because, I move it thus aside, of that and when from you, it is I am. Certain muscles wrapped around inside, my fingers do. The bush my hand upon is fire then ice. Each leaf is free to move and feel, it feels the face is red it's buldged blue veins. And breath sucked in the fingers roam beneath the moon, it floats. Does she proper beg to whom he is? Inside so deep those bending, elbows are. Moans, she cries and. Doing all of that and can't be stilled. The beating heart when touched, feels as. The splitting of the hips when quite, she is naught. The chilly water vapors warm the swamp. Blowing winds this foam up to my knees, his legs are never straight. The swirling of the tidal pools, her eddies are. Index finger, thumbed along each hidden muscled length. It pulls it in and doing nothing, pushed. The nerves are pointed buds around the open door, wheels and rings start ringing more, because. And speaking words that never were by him, not said. The light within your open mind it always thinking, read. It heard them not from me and moving you they did. Again, against between the river flowing never said. I said to you, I am, I only can it rears the moon. And the things that woman think they seek, some fear. The fire my hand it burns the bush, the folded lips, both rings I often come too know. Lifting up my hands you dreaming part the clouds, two elbows moving waves they always are.
Copyright © 2021 James McLain. All Rights Reserved