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March 7, 2013
Can I say how you delve toward the very core of my heart, that it feels essential to lay the nakedness of I on the very fire stone you've born for sacrifices in the giving places assumed the birth place of I, where the spark we flint by nodding toward the ritual might catch the unexpected tinder we cannot see, where the consequential conflagration roars controlled and uncontrolled, violently and peacefully, high and low, across the expanse of imagination, pitted on the crucible we've fashioned as the canvas of your children's procreation, the very hotbed of your need to create?