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Joy OfBrushing softly against me in the cool of the night. The smell of roses drifting down to rest upon my brow. There, that touch of lightness swiftly turning to red. I hold always in my arms with only the thought of those soft petals against my skin. You slowly spin above my life's reality. Taking me places I have never even dreamed. My life passes before me and I want none of it but this moment in time. This moment only with the soft brushing of your red lips. Love oh yes this is love... Robert Hayden Pursell 29 July 2004 Vote for this poem
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