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the day was out of sync with my mood,
overspread like a quilt, the sky was delicately rosewater hued
little yarrows were radiantly prospering around,
tugging at my unseen wounds; your thoughts somehow still kept me drowned
little birds belched out bubbles that burst to release harmonious little summer sounds
amidst all the serenity; all I was searching for was the lethal dose of love, only you could surmount
YOU ARE READING
Throes of Spring ✔️
Poetry[FEATURED] godhood is just like girlhood: a begging to be believed
