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              It used to be…

where His deepest most sensual penetration

was the slow slide into her mind.

An appetizing aphrodisiac

of his poet’s prose, to

beguile behind

a wordy veil

to blind & bind

her body & mind.

                       But now...

the

silence between them

frosts ripe fruit on a vine,

as a cold curtain falls on dawn

to never unfold after dusk is drawn.

Where the locked gate remains shut

& the rattle of the chain stands still,

to leave a hole that never fills

the same again…

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