Me a coffee.
Men with offerings.
Offer Men.
Poems run for belief.
I father a hooker.
She dreams like a woman.
I can't like this poem.
It's simple to know that she faced her own blind teeth.
I cried because she was a flag.
I tried to go for empresses.
This knowledge only cries -- leave.
You wanted this treatment (Western freedom asks police for flowers)
Good Day
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