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- Erotic Poetry
- Bonds
Poem Info
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Some call fucking "making love",
But to make is to take,
To plant your flag in someone's soul,
And feel their body quake.
Clothes are flung,
Juices gush,
To own a heart,
With just one touch.
Though tomorrow, perhaps far away,
For tonight, with our Id's we'll play.
The "you" and the "I",
Knit up by gasps,
Can never fully sunder.
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