I look, I see
what’s pleasing to the eyes
Red cinnamon, in words
I hear you speak
With bold intentions
in your shy design.
And now that we’re together
I will stare, free of care,
In eyes – imprisoning
this heart of mine
A voice of wine
that beckons ’til I’m weak
And there’s no filling of
your lows and highs.
the fragrance writer 
Yes, sometimes we do.
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And sometimes we love them
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Prisons are such complex and intense, deeply emotional spaces.
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