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Click hereWith my white bread
My gun and leather map
To the reaches of the valley
Feared
Upon an alter drawn tightly
Sporting straps of confinement
Her form awaits my offering
My intent, the content
Of the pouch still clasped
We toast, she squints
We dance
Her hands upon my hips
We spin and swirl
In trance
Toasting from her
Brimming double D cups
Now detached