Your rouge in zephyr fades,
Your lace flows as you pace.
Your pumps press me into the pain,
Your train meanders in my brain.
Your cloud makes me depress,
Your tress stirs my distress.
Breathing the last, but I'll never resent,
Since your scent still does last in this lament.
20180413 by gkevinx
备注：首发在lolita吧 地址
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