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A slow breaking and mending
of blood and bone
fit for the poorest
of ivory souls.
Pour tomber, pour courir,
pour mourir; no less!

Mademoiselle
No one, to you,
do tell.
A dream,
perhaps a nightmare,
that died in your arms
much too long ago.


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Thursday, August 9, 2007
Where do I start?
We can begin with the knots in my stomach..or the marks on your neck. We can begin with the end: our goodbyes that make us forget about parting ways. We can begin with the way every touch seems to snake up my spine and render me senseless.

You always seem to render me senseless by causing every damn sense to overload and combust.

Then we can move on to how the silence between us seems to echo in steady waves..how your breathing is in perfect timing with mine, and how we fill the spaces between the kisses with sighs and sweet whispers. We can move on to the promises we make, and the confessions here and there.

I will always find ways to be with you. I'm not going anywhere. So let's begin and move on to every amazing new chapter but let's not end..I can't get over the novelty of every single emotion. I don't ever want to have to.

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