Come MarchA Poem by Moonie
On her sunglasses,
buttermilk clouds bask. February winds rise in waves and blossom inwards. Drinking the lemonade sun, her fruit punch lips lust for March's soft kisses, laden with wild wisteria musk, that'd leave peach juices dribbling down her chin, onto her honeyed breasts, trailing on the coconut skin. © 2019 MoonieFeatured Review
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Added on February 27, 2019Last Updated on February 27, 2019 |

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