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Burdens of Imperfectionshe sighs at us and rolls her eyes when we gaze while walking past. Her skin tanned ever-so lightly, as if a skilled brush swept softly across her, every delicious inch of her, browning the paleness away. Her deep apple red lips pursed and soft enough to melt inside yours, and leave your soul dripping warmly through your veins. But she stares ahead tartly, with her eyelashes fluttering like silk in slow motion and her sharp, angry eyes a frosty frozen-colored blue that sends us shivering back from any crazy notion that we might have dreamed in our silly little minds. She simply stares through us as if we were nothing, as if there was no one there at all. all works on this page Copyright 2000 by Paul Ryan .
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