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''Throw a bottle to the sea, then what? Drifting is a purpose, or isn't it? One shall never have an ending in mind when one begins with the first line of verse. On this journey of poetry, wind and sand control our destiny.''
Their desires were lit by a cool crispy half-moonwhen the river surged to the green banks and the ground was pearl white.It was young autumn.Their gazes met in a climax before theyreduced into two stiff shirts.