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A mediocre

You're enjoying I'm creating Neither hundred percent Nor the hundredth of whole Only like a mediocre of You and me. As long as I'm writing My poem bridges the gap Even though a single Atom of us.

Weave me into your fantasies

widely spread fire upon body
blooms like flower
eyelashes prick over wrist
and lips on palm
spilling wine through face
is like cradle on my tongue
the touch of you is divine.

Your loving Devil.

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