And Cinnamon skies,
And Cinnamon lives
A Cinnamon world
To make me see true,
A Cinnamon day
To make me love you.
Lilac and lace.
A Cinnamon case.
And Cinnamon fears,
With Cinnamon smiles
And Cinnamon tears.
My Cinnamon loves,
My life makes me feel
My Cinnamon dreams,
One nice deal.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Allan, don't you think that, between the two of us (not physically, I am not one of those) we could come up with something solid that wouldn't collapse in the next wind caused by a whisper or a branch of the weeping willow?
I think if we overstate our age AND use a bit of smoke and mirrors, throw in a couple of poems and soak ourselves in giant tubs of Montepulciano d'Abruzzo before. Gotta impress these talented sheilas.
gIRLS COULD YOU SEND ME A CRATE OF CINNAMON, I HAVE TO LOOK AFTER MY SEX DRIVE, I CANT KEEP UP WITH THOSE 40 YEAR OLDS
THE FIRST THING I ASK THEM ARE THEY AGRESSIVE ENOUGH
IF YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN
THE YOUNG FELLOW
What about cinnamon loaves, with raisins.
A nice bottle of red, sitting by the fireplace, listening to Charles Aznavour and the rustling of the chiffon. You could 'sprinkle' a good measure of eggnog on top and watch the snow come down.
Nice pleasant poem, will sweep the cobwebs away.
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9/13/2021 9:17:33 AM # 18.104.22.1686