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Dying Art
it's evident,
the bond of a futile lust
faltering at a knifes edge
gradually pushing further,
devouring myself into you
like ragged breath's poison
words tearing flesh,
slowly dripping my sin
gently upon your enticing body
beating heart's turning,
solemnly growing lush
encased in an immense bliss
exploring new horizons,
turning crimson tide
into marvelous dying art
as sullen lips,
lain against shattered fate
lost in present darkness
like trembling fingertips,
seeking tender warmth in dark red
now cascading from within flesh.
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