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A Sweetheart Mote Cyrch A Chwta

Soft motion on a moon swing, big wishes waltz slow dancing. The skyline starts romancing with a glow that’s trumpeting. Constellations glow and ping like a young prince whispering ‘Let us make music all night. The air is tight and pulsing.’ As shooting stars create trails, all that surrounds you just pales. Just one touch of fairy tales, such innocence your soul wails. Falling into cream and veils red roses have tipped the scales, now you believe what they wrote. A sweetheart mote’s lush entrails.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2025




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