She was helpless with soft desirability and relaxed bliss so lost in a kiss.
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Sharing poems & thoughts, one redacted word at a time.
She was helpless with soft desirability and relaxed bliss so lost in a kiss.
Wanderlust is to believe happy lived where it is easy to stay lost.
Helpless and lost to writing and yet, in some mysterious way the servation was extraordinary.
A lost mind, locked inside cracking with emotion. I've tried living freely, that's simply not me. I can't reinvent myself.
I am a wild mass of hair lost in the world.
Her authentic might have been lost. She would tell him what he liked - it would be enough, it was almost certainly love.
The panic was starting, I didn't recognize myself, I lost all trace of me, that young woman is a ghost.
I remember what happened after I lost my love, my life of dark winter without passion or depth fizzled out drifting me in black mood.
Their eyes lost focus, and both reflected a smile and knew there was no need to say anything.
I was lost in a storm. My heart wished I had wings and could ascend instead of sinking down an abyss.