Fluctuating weeds that grab and snooze, and tell and betray my assumptions - how they are untrue but quiver widely under presumptions that one would be doomed.
And what's this smile upon my forehead that pirated my youthful vindication? The affliction of empty words that sound as loud as the most silent vow to never abandon the image of self.
Auditory, auditorium; audacity they say, and I hear the best of puns to reconsider my chance of drama in the sarcasm of her empty words.
Gently, with childish infliction... Hot and cold, to share my room with the adorning conviction of immatured visions and the premature notion that it is not borrowed words in old books.
Stings and airs of heated frictions that beset (and bassett, whatever it means) her body on top of mine - the turns, the spins, the agitation of breaths poured and spawned and the timely perfection.
To reminisce it once more and; therefore, nevermore.
Time is fluid.
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