The indulgence of the flesh. The freshness of your time. The expectation of your gist and a drama divine. Who by tear of woe of dead tree could make the summer kite of Japanese delight turn this way or that by romantic wind? And those by tea do dine their cheese and cracker, their novelties and tragedies, their narratives empty and repeated by the dust, to be left ageless in the wake of your morning mist, your midday zenith and a moon lurking in wonder of eyes left unseen forever ❤️
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