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The Flesh It Parted

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Spoken in riddles of velvet and shadows, like smoke curling in arabesque, with a sultry voice of dusk and grotesque. A waxen tongue, thick as the blade, that barely remembers the flesh it parted. Half forgotten in the blood’s rush of secrets. Coiling in the throat of her cold tar. A litany of sins, a psalm of scars. A molten shroud for the dreamer who grieves. Spoken in riddles of velvet and shadows, like smoke curling in arabesque.

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