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Cemented in your imagination... |
| I saw them in the garden mocking love unfolding swelling with staged hands, precision molding. I wondered at their passionless stone lips on cold skin - no agony, no ecstasy, no signs of giving in to arduous contortion, wracked propriety, sweat dripping, mind ripping fall from chastity. Just statues white and frozen - admiring and admired - erected by the chosen stripped, both of clothes and fire. |