adore you like the night time, or vessel of sadness, or large silent! And the more I love you as much as I flee, or beautiful, and looks, ornament of my nights, ironically earning the distance between my arms from the infinite blue. I carry the attack, as does a row m'arrampico onslaught of worms in a corpse, and love, relentless and cruel fair, until the cold that makes you more beautiful in my eyes. Charles Baudelaire
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