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Stubbornness

It was spirit of the time. The lethal trade of- missiles, someone was sending free. You collect the cachet of bleak weather. The roses were in bloom. Trying to conceive the buttercups in the blue- frame of melancholia. I err, and find myself in sleep after the contact. A genetic gratitude overwhelms. You catch the stings blindly. The other sin will take care of itself in blood. Satish Verma

Copyright © | Year Posted 2015




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