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weary minds rest well in soft embraces
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my allure enthralls from within, a feast that satisfies after your stamina dies
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I want to believe in the radical acceptance of cosmic madness stripping me down into such a pure vessel of pleasure,
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now a hint of smile in hysteria, broken toys make such good submissives when they play the role so well, don’t they? The subtle push and pull of your incessant waning, waxing poetic without the decency to shine in authentic light.
