She walks a little too near to the scintillated knife-edge
And he no less smirks to smile… whilst pledging inundated, inescapably devoted allegiance – seems she is in all of We

And he tends to have to ferociously force himself to see it, every next withdrawn and unsuggestively depressive piece of her undiluted brilliance – she feels many a magically inclined albeit utterly flawed momentary wicker-word instance
Of his

And pleads for guardian Angel He, to make some sort of sense of it all…
whisper right near her still stinging aside unbelievably sensually entangled ear

There appears to be, a none too settled rather manic-stricken pair of them in this –
forever forth-forward

Yet, not a single word rigorously spared

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