A Fine Suited Man With Terrible Inklings

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A fine suited man with terrible inklings
Hands on her shoulders; easy to confide
Pouring drinks & erasing her sadness
Falling by the wayside with time & tide
Beauty is merely a natural configuration
Each button gone, an uncontrollable urge
His intentions told with a silent tongue
Embraced & now they lovingly merge

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4 thoughts on “A Fine Suited Man With Terrible Inklings

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