This is the error that fascinates.

I suppose you are secretly lonely,
Thinking of death, thinking of love.

I’d like, please, to leave on your sill
Just one cold flower, whose beauty

Would leave you inconsolable all day.
The secret of poetry is cruelty.

I’d like, please, to leave on your sill just one cold flower, whose beauty would leave you inconsolable all day.

This is the error that fascinates.

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About Klassy

How Klassy got her groove back.

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