
Love is not caring that verdigris might lower economic value because it is blue-tiful on its own and worth keeping close for both luck and charm.
Love is massaging a callipygian friend with no strings attached save for a delighted derrière.
Love is following “Howzit?”’s response with a hug rather than an ugh.
Love is mystic.
Never fistic.
Sometimes, tristich. ; )
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