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By my parting of these words,
these certain very words.
Herein because, I move it thus aside,
of that and when from you, it is I am.
Certain muscles wrapped around inside,
my fingers do.
The bush my hand upon is fire then ice.
Each leaf is free to move and feel,
it feels the face is red it's buldged blue veins.
And breath sucked in the fingers roam
beneath the moon, it floats.
Does she proper beg to whom he is?
Inside so deep those bending, elbows are.
Moans, she cries and.
Doing all of that and can't be stilled.
The beating heart when touched, feels as.
The splitting of the hips when quite, she is naught.
The chilly water vapors warm the swamp.
Blowing winds this foam up to my knees,
his legs are never straight.
The swirling of the tidal pools, her eddies are.
Index finger, thumbed along each hidden muscled length.
It pulls it in and doing nothing, pushed.
The nerves are pointed buds around the open door,
wheels and rings start ringing more, because.
And speaking words that never were by him, not said.
The light within your open mind it always thinking, read.
It heard them not from me and moving you they did.
Again, against between the river flowing never said.
I said to you, I am, I only can it rears the moon.
And the things that woman think they seek, some fear.
The fire my hand it burns the bush, the folded lips,
both rings I often come too know.
Lifting up my hands you dreaming part the clouds,
two elbows moving waves they always are.
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