XXIII, by Sumit Singh Subscribe to rss feed for Sumit Singh

mary, my girl, where are you
 those intimate hands
those wasteful eyes
 those who have no ways
to melt down
 are, for no good, still ringing
come
 and come
and your man want it
 without any hum
to let know those eager eyes
 that soulmate ain't born
and my illogical side advocate
 and, somehow i think
logical
 
Posted: 2005-10-06 11:00:21 UTC

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