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Post by oskar345 on Nov 30, 2013 15:10:27 GMT 1
Summer Love.
Her skirt white as silk billowed in the breeze of fragrance, costly as the boats in the bay, danced passed me a zephyr of summer love. Sky blue eyes looked beyond me and far; a ripple of contented laughter followed her. She wore an exquisite aroma of splendour, the holy who donĀ“t know the price of bread. So white her smile, so red her lips. She entered a Lamborghini, golden tanned its driver was, and she was hit by arrows of love She sat in her room, her dress crumbled, tears ran down her rosy chin, she, a seamstress with a borrowed dress, had flown too near the sun, a butterfly with broken wings and lost illusion.
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