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Click hereHer breasts
Curved into incense
An aroma of cleavage
Pouring milk into my heart
Her nipples
Burning my soul
Into a crimson blood
Of roses in a garden
Her garden
As she pulls off her panties
And dreams we dream
Are only fantasies
Although short, I started to feel a little growth "down there" as I read it, indicating that that your poem touched me where I want to be touched.
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