(Source blockchain poets)
Dear sweet smiles behind the scenes
The shining teeth that helves around
The Irish wife of all man
A pet with cold hands
That sleeps beyond the reach,
Would your sleeping eyes be too heavy to carry?
You are the body in the ice sea
I think of you, like my twin wife
County our last sex day, with the makers of chock signs.
Yet, I see no warming hands as cold as yours
And bitter as yours, for all my warm times, I have peered my face thinking about the war tones.
Beyond the broken sorry trophy.
I see no man driving you, nor that has beaten you in this context.
Then I asked, what has the sweet lips brought to the table?
O. That mighty eye behind the scenes,
I recount, my paragons of flowers
And quickly pick the other part of the fallen tree,
listening beforehand, in deep goose heat.
All the sound behind the bar, that you have sail in your ship,
It all fuses my mind that you are the sweet fierce hand.
Tool gate of nor man land, behind, then I leave my worries, for hitting out my fears, waiting for the new sunrise of my soul.
Because I'm just a bench mouth in the hands of your smile,
O, a Terry voice resounding, would it be my yearning mouth, thinking that your sail man ship, beyond the bar, across the shores would be solely a dream?
O. Of what lies my end tail.
Then I realized the span cut near it end tails
With no citation, I avail my ways.
For your asylum, is purity without no purifier!