Numb to the words you speak
With an angelic voice,
You are an encrypted soliloquy
Whistles and tongue directed sounds,
A process like growing plants from grounds
The words are formed through the release
Creating dialects and accents of different towns and different streets
Different sounds with different beats
With so many options,
My ears resort to one,
I ingest your voice like a buccaneer with rum.
Quite frankly I tend to be less of self,
but my instincts scream that your voice is meant to sing
for only me.
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