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He is the thought behind the feeling,
the swelling in my chest;
the starlight in the evening,
the yearning when I dress.
He is the sound behind the sighing,
the tears in all my crying -
the ache in every word.
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Story by plastic-plants
Sweet little Eleanor
Seine rauen Hände zogen sanfte Linien über meine nackten Schultern.
Seine rauen Lippen geleiteten über die he...
