My Trouble

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  • Fantasy

    My Trouble

    My trouble comes in the form of a cloned angel.
    Dressed in temptation and perfumed in lust.
    She speaks to my soul by way of my weary hearts pound.
    She flows without moving and as she leaves her Shadow seduces you.
    Yet I am a fool!
    To indulge in such a sinful pleasure, would only end in pain.
    But what am I to do?
    Fester in purgatory, or follow such a creation.
    Only to become fettered by her erotic minds.
    And still I am a fool!
    Unable to say no...
    I can not find my way home two beauties one face, two loves but one choice.
    Consumed with greed and passion, I am a FOOL!!!!
    I have my cake but no fork, only foolish fantasies of such a delicacies.
    I'll use not fork, but my hands. This is too good to pass my mind has many secrets, many wishes and oh sooo many plans. This is not one but two and I am but a man.

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    Poetry is either something that lives like fire inside you or else it is nothing, an empty formalized bore around which pedants can endlessly drone their notes and explanations.

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