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When All That's Left Is To Love
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You are the temple, I worship within,
living prayers of merging love and lust,
breath writes holy scriptures upon our skin.
You are the temple, I worship within,
a sacred place for me to enter in,
my priesthood's vows renewed by ev'ry thrust.
You are the temple, I worship within,
living prayers of merging love and lust.
*This is an adaptation of French Triolet, a form which is officially written
in lines of 8 syllables, incorporating Iambic Tetrameter. Instead of French Iambic T,
I am in the mood for a more rambling Colonial English flavour :P
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