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Unfortunately, I suffer From a perpetual desire to lean Towards you when you're most unaware  And silence your lips with my own.    I'm afraid I selfishly cover you in kisses,  In an action of petty mortality.  As a fool with a view of the stage.    And yet what's worse, I fear you are Entirely to blame. You see had you not been so perfectly flawed  I could have resisted.  And lived a life so blissfully mundane, That I might remember  Not to drink on Sundays Not to laugh too loud or stare too delightedly.   But alas, the world is not kind in that way. 
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