The Heart Admits

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When I realize the extent I let you touch my heart, it makes me cry.
It was that deep, levels of emotions dipping into mariana trenches of soul ties that…
I need to call my pastor.
I do not want a permanence but a taste  that may erase the trace of  you.
But seedlings of doubt urge me against sampling thine fruits thinking of a future date that will never be.
Yet it does not stop the twirling of butterflies that reach to the eyes like the effect of pollen to a spring allergic.

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