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She scrapes the frost off of the day with the sunsmile that's the way it goes and I'll sunbathe it's taking awhile but I'm like a cactus 'cause I can live off one kiss or even one long loaded gaze for as long as need be; Hola, you who want and find how to ring it to clues I'll take sense and sensitivity to blows and canvases that cough Magicks. Retrograde orbit, my eyes doctored for advancing age don't velvet-rope off the young seventh planet--which planet lifts? Toll and chime and rant and pave. Why did she have to write me after so long and then rewrite and rip open all those nearly-totally-healed bits of tissue? Now when I hear the upstroke of the strings 3/4 of the way in I see what happened--and what was mere wishes--all jumbled in one continuous director's cut of butter-toffee purring and scents of clean nature and femininity and the fresh stir in my midriff as I ponder the touch of hers.

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