Now was what one (a rock) made.
I like my own empress -- illness of poesy.
Estrogen gravely makes art.
Today there's joy; where laughter fails, omens of peace give you dreams.
Glad to ride With you. Know your love to know your softness.
I have thought that you would take me to softness. I know you are where my grains dried.
Laughter was nice. I now ride because of the grave.
You here and you are my goddess.
I remember letting you say your belief was your trial.
It was that which was a life.
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