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Whirlpool CravingsI crave the taste of you. Not so much the way you look or the color of your emblazoned eyes. But I crave the taste of your words, the tongue of your gilded page. It is as though the bird is loose looking for a place to perch. What you crave to taste is freedom. Not so much the overwhelming rush from the waterfalls that pull love closer to the rocky shoals, the whirlpool of bold desires. Yet, once I have tasted you and once you have tasted me, will we have our fill of passion? Will there be anything more to crave? Poetry Ad-Free Upgrades Vote for this poem
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