SERASMÍA

Her sweet nectar is perfection, and she bursts into bloom– Whenever we’re alone, and we need no room.

We need no tools, we make the mood,
Watering the garden ’til the buds peek through…

Her dewdrop dress.

We squeeze the fruit.

We fill up, just to spill. We suck the juice.

High Glory, praise Love. Her touch is the truth.

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