She was tequila rose, he the Lynchburg oak. She said more with one look, than any word she spoke. Warmth, emancipated by her soul, melts away at the snow. Revealing a taste of what all want to know.
Tequila Rose
When the Soul Cried Out for Meaning
Smith Shine Poetry
This is beautiful. Reminds me a little of me.
So happy to read your poetry.
Have a great week.
Oh, good image too.
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Thank you for your comment im happy of your approval im sure you inspire many.
stay safe
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