She was half naked;
upto her soul, her Beethoven eyes…
I won’t mince my words, I wanted to sleep with her.
As if moments weren’t enough to comprehend the magnitude of a life.
What if her breasts were the most poetic one and I lost a poem on those…
Perhaps everything is not always about changes…it’s about the possibility of changes.
I would sleep through this blazing lady of eloquence today…
Drunk writings are supposed to be intangible…
but isn’t it cool to draw it’s tangent on a rainy midnight?
Man this here is something deep I love it
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Thank you…
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Very good
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Thanks a lot…
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