The rawness of old love, of that spirit love, given surely, through the senses - ours is not a trivial mortal affection.
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Sharing poems & thoughts, one redacted word at a time.
The rawness of old love, of that spirit love, given surely, through the senses - ours is not a trivial mortal affection.
His words, their sound, rendered everything else trivial. His name caught her attention and she would have caught his eye if he gave her the opportunity.
To observe art as an impersonal thing is common. Between the lines an shapeless blurs is a singular experience outside the trivial.