| | Our rites of sin
Have long fathered a hymn
To burder Him.
Whom by slip of after-whim
At genesis.
Dressed Her like the wind
In Autumn gowns
That pinned Her down
To be my...
be my... -mannequin
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| | Posted 9/23/2005 2:42 PM - 1 view - 6 comments
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