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The saffron of the valley, a stalk of lithe grace, filled with the crimson fervour of holy,heals your wounds unseen…
Sometimes,it’s a little scarybeing a baby.I love being sportybut mummy saystoo much of thatwon’t let me becomethe pretty posh girl…
I can’t resist,innocent enough at first,just a dash of flavor to wake me up,tingle the senses, give me a taste,
One line poem response to Terijo’s prompt, spice.
Inspired by Terijo’s one-line Spice prompt
Coffee-cinnamon steam risesover the first shy, blushing smiles
A single inhalation No obfuscationI am capturedEnrapturedEnslavedBy your Spice