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poem on love and passion-- the minutes post-sex |
| the cigarette starts to burn.. the smoke begins to churn. Time is eclipsed in yr mind— sweet, sweet longings lingering fine. the smell of peach white tea permeates the room— keeping still the memories of our minutes past. quick to light— a lighter to the incense. the smoke begins to churn— masking the scent of peach white tea, forgetting what it means to me… sweet, sweet longings. |