What a mighty rose, she paints among my face.
I am left mused.
The color of old, the ink of something new.
The gentle I recall,
my blood boils of a fire she has made
A honey thick cool,
I sketch a poets, cliche
To float on clouds, and fly through seas
Red hair curls around such beliefs
In love, its fate thats trickery
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1 comment:
"The Color of Old" ? Really LaRayia? keep gooooing.
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