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june is the season for meaningless pretty words unfurling in eddies that alight on the undertips of my eyelashes, shaken off in a blink. hardly the despondency of december nor the paroxyms of april, but rather proper time for stories of samurais and bonnie and clyde and other things that are born, just to die; june glory, july splendor, and a quick deadly shootout in the august palace cars borrowed and broken.
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1 comment:
i love you <3
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