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Poems from laulevi215
No, not mitten. Glove.
I slip my hand into a new glove, No, not mitten. Glove. Mittens are soft, Clouds for the hands, To fade, Slowly, into a plush foreign...
Guise
Me, myself, and I, a guise. Her, him, they, and we, a guise. Influence plagues the mind. Primitive purity heavily veiled by a guise...
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