Wednesday, November 28, 2012

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Tempestuous me, never ending tip-toe inside and out the, ours, yours, we all are sharing despite our utmost grievances of communion, utmost dalliance with youth with age with all our ducks they are dying, like mattresses they lay, like mattresses we move towards one another, feeble motions point that-a-way, pressing without arms, pressing without yours, press and pick up all in a row

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