Eyelashes have hid women.
Gently raise them to stars
Of a night by a pale moon.
Some are jasmines to bud
On the blouse back’s night,
With its stars flowering yet.
Old jasmines are a history.
Smell a washed out pocket.
Eyelashes have hid women.
Gently raise them to stars
Of a night by a pale moon.
Some are jasmines to bud
On the blouse back’s night,
With its stars flowering yet.
Old jasmines are a history.
Smell a washed out pocket.
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