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March 22, 2013
Fisted knuckles and the softened hand melted into one solidity, the only sure vibration that skin might devise given the extremes of going and coming, appearing and disappearing, shadowed in the pressing play where bodies dissolve, such that we have the right to gain and lose at once, this one contentment of hearts and minds, being the sustenance of loving, not a pattern of rules, we go by the instincts shunted into firey view by an impulse as a godly touch of demons, so hot and cold at once one might define the towering and lowering entwisted like backward birthing.