

ThreadsDeft fingers interweave the fine strands of memory; Atropos is no match for the threads never cut, only thinned by time. The hole in the weave of your cotton t-shirt lent a peep-show view of your soft-skinned shoulder until the tightly-knit fabric slid over your head and onto the floor, like a shed skin, to hide you away from prying eyes. But I always see you.Threads
In the muted moonlight above me you were more than handsome, more than enough filtered as my impressions may be by love. I would that the truth, that your disparate body is irrelevant to you
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+.Escaping from Reality.+
hopu enjoy ur stay
Take care
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