Shall not,
Simply must not make it happen ever again

This pen – silk-ribboned, mounted right by bounds of reawakening precision tends to fending for itself

Either way frozen forth,
She shall be the driving force stirred miraculously within one such behemoth and instrumental lady

And she can have it all by the break of a quaking and rather shudder-speed Dawn

Petrified by the darkened-exterior silence – soon as the hesitantly lit light turns itself softly o-f-f

by alarmingly delicate aside frightfully delightful happenstance

When one shrinking-violet silhouette meets her meek comfort-zone right by the thunderstorm middle and takes to blasphemous derision at strenuous pace

Whilst bringing this bountiful Mona Lisa smile back into immaculate play once more

Please, oh pretty baby
Deplore what’s agonized these outrageously intimate eyes of yours

Whilst soaring a million miles wider than anyone could have ever fully fathomed to bring one’s self to imagine

They may now, after all of this tremendously wrought-iron time, clasp their strengthened hands together again and witness to watch

Themselves miraculously dance

Like, it does suggestively tend to fending for itself and seem, nobody’s ever really been bothered to force another such lacklustre person to watch

Seems he’s been waiting with arms wide open
To pen her inescapably in again – that utterly insatiable thing wherein derision goes to flag itself insane, set itself flabbergasted aflame

To die right by their chosen sword, these Warlord words namely

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