She

Tends
To
Like to divulge to a seriously
Self-anointed point

Where bygones be simply
That thing permittedly left to own devices

Oh so sumptuously
Spliced til but murmuring little
Inanimate things

Indeed, She seems to settle her fond fond soul
To match and meet beautified rigamarole for equally delicious gusto

You know that she built it all from
Utter imagination – such a sophomore, cellophane tease sensation

Carries with her pretty upright aside rather tantalised and sprightly heightened instances – so lend her your fond, found time and wine and dine and sit atop her prioritised pleads
Til she beestings you oh so fucking goddamn magically

A tragedy not to feel this memorably fantastical sting in the boomerang tail

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