They say gusto can evaporate… if kissed every day Chain, pointer-equipped case Who creates such covers of the sacred in our days?
Own investitures. Sweet modulations people you! They say no one shakes free from the sun but by dying Yet haven’t you seen souly shadows in retrouvailles, flânerie-free If they call it panache, must they call? Not many wear hats, waggers done with flair.
A kettle will know when to scream, whistle untaken off Why daylight comes with slow fire, with love, the whiff of far-off fog And short streets, cul-de-sacs, trembling perhaps That we might stop for an iron smoke.
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