Of a waning dusk when the grass sleeps by the path in the boudoir of your heart, if you hear a hushed rustle on paws light as petals, open up and listen in with all your might: it could be youth, lost in your earlier years, come to find a place.

~ chronicles of unordinary encounters ~
Ah. My man of art.
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My woman of love!
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I just love the way you express in your write ups.. Big fan of your work..
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