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Crossing Paths

Deep be her verdant green eyes. Wanderlust of dark withers. With a hymn of the silent night. In my dreams, dripping lust from the collarbone of the gothic moon. Beneath the willows crossing paths, like shadows of daffodils, blooming silence. Deep be her verdant green eyes of thimbles and stones. In rows of granite mahogany. As my dreams run backward. Listening to the crying.      

 

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