A bouquet of fresh flowers in a vase

Held hands by the other person, jarred and interlocked about to interlope again
set to sail the seven feels of the whole shy-lock system – they spend their heavenly summers crushing crabs and creating rolled-up smokes with upside-down iodine twisted neatly inside

She draws back her perfect daughter’s long strands of brunette-blue hair, fetches a magnificent ponytail for only herself

Whilst he sits back down upon the mysterious beach
free as these pebble-stones which sooth to instrumentally wash over settled down feet
wishing upon a challenging dream

These natural-born, beautiful procrastinators
travel-hardy hipsters of their chosen accordance to whichever comes first

These doomed days aside gloomy derivatives, all of them attempting to make roundabout sense of themselves
they just have to escape this blessedly pressed admittance of theirs before it all becomes far too persnickety and altogether bounded by treacherous lies in thorn-stricken time

Walking with twisted bits in their oblong sides
and serious chips upon over-emboldened shoulders

When crazed creatures cry
she has to beg, bask, borrow, and ask, but is her future born to be both brazen and bright

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