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Literature Text
Your skin, so gentle and smooth
Still wet from early morning dew
And touched by majestic sun beam
Oh how beautiful today you are
In this mesmerizing blue ball dress
So fitting for your thin body
As the morning sun is still young
The lovely aroma your body has
So sweet and always calling me
Staying fresh even in my dreams
And the words you gently whisper
As the wind silently passes by
Ones I will never truly understand
You won a place inside my head
As a young and nimble beauty
My little blue, blue flower
Still wet from early morning dew
And touched by majestic sun beam
Oh how beautiful today you are
In this mesmerizing blue ball dress
So fitting for your thin body
As the morning sun is still young
The lovely aroma your body has
So sweet and always calling me
Staying fresh even in my dreams
And the words you gently whisper
As the wind silently passes by
Ones I will never truly understand
You won a place inside my head
As a young and nimble beauty
My little blue, blue flower
Literature
the Traveller
It was crowded in the tavern. Very crowded, even. It was one of those old ones that looks like it's been well lived in on both the out and inside. Faint grooves worn into the floor between tables as patrons shuffle their way through the crowd on the busiest evenings of the week. That being every day of the week. Existence in this bleak town a half day ride away from any other settlement or city pretty much required it.
This particular tavern was therefore the only place to gather that wasn't the temple and definitely the only place one could get drunk without anyone judging too harshly. All patrons of this place knew that enjoying the
Literature
Apollo
The day aged past its climax and was settling into lamination. The curtains cast a comfortingly oppressive rue, a savory warm grey cloak of shadow. It touched her hips where the tank top had ridden up, slightly favoring her slender waist. The covers had caressed her golden skin smooth and the curtains (lazy protectors) had led the late afternoon light to intrude into her room.
Her hand interrupted the narrow beam of light causing the graceful adhesion of it her fingers. It beaded on the tips of her hands and tumbled their warm hue along the labyrinths of her finger’s tips. Her mind was still but her body bet
Literature
Oathkeeper
I wrote a poem,
Forever ago.
I know,
That's nothing new.
It's also not new,
That it was about you.
But this one?
This one was goodbye.
This one was my final...
Correction.
It was SUPPOSED to be
My final love letter to you.
But poetry,
Love,
Never quite works out that way,
Does it?
This one was
Supposed to be
A step towards getting over you.
It was supposed to be
A promise.
To you,
To the world,
To myself.
I wrote in this letter
A due date.
I wrote that I wouldn't show it to
ANYONE
Until I was over you.
I thought the
Feelings
Would be gone by now,
But they still linger,
Ever present.
Love for others
Has come and gone.
But for you?
My
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i love this piece. it's as if there's an actual dancer/woman appearing in front of me.