#1065292 added March 18, 2024 at 1:23am Restrictions: None
Love For It’s True Worth
Con-cocked
I’m the envelope you fill with your craft,
Red paper hearts strung in a row enter this soul.
When I’m sealed, stamped by your tender hand
Deliver me to that destined land.
The warmth of your crimson constructive
Lip-sticks me from within from your heat.
Our delivered fate from post I’ll inscribe
With saturate ink pursed lips imbibed.
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