Devious KindA Poem by La Belle Dame Sans Merci
Previous Version This is a previous version of Devious Kind. Baby, I am an opiate, the slur upon your words. Don't take me in anymore and I won't hurt. What potent dirt upsurps our senses? Baby what addicts will lurk as strange missiles in your mind. Baby love so hurts. I am a trance of a kind.
The monsoon seasons unwind wreaking havoc terribly, though we try to regress in each other's sighs; it just won't die. Baby this love is terrible---why? How strange, the nightingale trills before each night before we collapse in exhaustion before we elevate to another height.
Baby, to you do I only write. I am an artifice of the most devious kind.
© 2008 La Belle Dame Sans MerciReviews
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Added on February 6, 2008AuthorLa Belle Dame Sans MerciByzantiumAbout"I met a lady in the meads, Full beautifula faerys child, Her hair was long, her foot was light, And her eyes were wild." I am convoluted and diluted. I am an.. more..Writing
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