The Artistry of Sentiment
I could speak of the meaning of love and make its vitals food for words but that
would tarnish its real meaning. I’m not in my own world anymore. I’m in a world
of combination and care. Her words engulf me into an abyss of mystic nature
and leave me pewter to a hammer of lust. Her body sways with willow-like agility,
nurturing the air with a smooth melody sung by her hips. Vibrant waves of
happiness seep into my pours as her smile pulsates flashing beams of joy
toward me. Her eyes as delicate as glass, display an asymmetrical balance
between elegance and enchantment. A vine she is, inside my body, spreading
her angular roots throughout my soul, synthesizing melancholy into passion. I
have grown weary of sorrow and it’s multiple followers. There is a new light and
a new reality were sunsets burn into lovers eyes and crickets sing ballads for
liberated affection.
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