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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.

The crimson lips

Her eleventh kiss
made me insane indeed
no worry and hurry there was
and no hues and husk.
Her smile is a real art on face
a curve locked my lips within
like the waxing moon in sea.

One to tenth kisses by her
were also bliss
to make the crimson lips.

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