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In candle-light I see her form.
In shadows she rises and falls.
Beloved in this blessed dorm.
A masculine urge of nature calls.
Touches, on the point of pressure,
Whispered breath upon my skin,
Pleasure given, returned in pleasure,
A race in which we both shall win.
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Jack Lashbrook
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paradise never lost Zorica Vukovic | Nov 16th, 2005
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