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Rated: E · Poetry · Romance/Love · #2307949
A Soul Mate trumps any word play, smoking mirrors or even a Cold Day.
Remembering a Chain Smoker referencing the cold day, or was it a Cold Play something like this;
They spoke on scenes unseen, beings before they began and spaces outer space that is still a myth.

If hypnotized, I would be mesmerized conjuring thoughts fathom they could speak of a perfect mate;
Beliefs Au contraire is it "oui" that pursues the denture display or really "we" depending on the language of our fate.

The creation of man recreates at the multitude of sand flowing over like the tides rolling to the beach.
Wo is the womb to voices herd when called upon, healed stitches debt paid once finding a good sheep.

He created her from him for company, assistance and to feel the lonely days with companionship;
We create an image for our forever partner that consist of non-existing four letter words, so we jump from relations to ship.

Believe it or not, a simple yes can make a mess as a journey towards forever with the person called our we;
Smoking mirrors re-clouds our vision observing the found of whats been missing on this mission is really me.

When you find that one, there is no need to define fun, the stars will line up Myth-less with no pun, keeping you both on replay.
Cold Play was having a cold day, became a Chain Smoker when finding out something like this was referring to a Soul Mate!
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