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Your body is my body.
There is no visible line shadowing a particular
orifice of where you begin and I end.
Attached. My body is your body
and there are no muted parts which gel in theory,
our intangible becoming tangible
adhesive becomes sweat in concealed
muscular space.
Your body is my body
There is no in and out,
Or out and in,
a precious orb dancing on the springs of
pillow top mattresses.
I could lay here forever,
within you
by you
as you
as your body becomes my body
and souls dissipate faster than lovers anticipate
where the mirage comes to its
cruel fate.
But at this moment,
Your body is my body.
My body is yours
and we shadow dance on walls
reserved for late night evenings

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