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In the sweetest of nocturnal ponds, my eyes dip in the cool shores of silver, waiting to be rolled in warm bliss, by your fragrance wafting around the pond. Golden charm resonate while you hum, the melody of my serenade and I pinch myself to see this ballad is real and not a mild mirage like those dandelions there in your eyes. I dip my quill in the river of your love and write in the canvas of jasmine and rose. our love is the closure of unending legacies, unraveling through years of melted sonata

Our song is the boon of your whispers, where I slip into the gardens of Eden, devouring the eloquent shade of poetry only to write you an ode, from the temporal lobe of my cranium. Our song is the ballad sung by undulating wrapping up of blankets in the sultry ambiance of indigo passions. Our love is the shade of moon, whispering to the stars and guiding the way of forbidden fruits like us.

O divine verses of prose, glide me through your indispensable proximity of my love, that flows through the veins of river in between the root that hold the deepest of pleasure, that flutter through the dreams of pink, orange, amber, red painted sky….that mix with the zilch effervescence of this seedless night.

I shall make you weep those ink of eloquent aura, making me drip with emotions as your verses tangle my brains. I behold the torch of your divine presence that unveil glaciers and waterfalls of enduring metaphor, and I bathe in this pond of reverberation to rattle my love towards you, O fine piece of beauty.

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