go on: the hands of the rogues
will burn you as they stroll their knuckles
over your flesh, how tenderly they will speak
until their tongues begin to bleed
their mouths gap and draw in
deep breaths full of apparitions of their
"i love you"s, a spirit dealt a raw deal
as their hips and thighs will show you
what simply can three or four
or five little words do to one who felt
the sting of more than so, more than this,
more than all the waning of the moon?
still i wonder as i wrap your hands
with white cloths
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