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In singular, in blissful ignorance, I happily existed in advance of tasting blithely an ambiguous kiss. My dear singularity, intact complacent wholesomeness, what have they done: a sweet saliva, a Chrysostom tongue, the lips, a bit thin lips, to be exact, a tricky smile, a quick eye at the clock and a continuation of the talk, like nothing happened, chilly and abstract. Split into two, bereft of unity, alas, I have no more immunity for dual... Truly, ignorance is bliss. * См. перевод в комментарии 1. |
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