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Do-fa-mi

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Do-fa-mi a brush stroke in the dark with the cadence of your breath, whisper to me against my throat with your lips, that can’t escape into night, with cognac on my mind between kisses and the pendelum, that swings like a blade, disolving into a shadow, when your voice becomes religion that I geneflect for, as the moon curves your spine with a melody  of do-fa-mi…the keeper of my heart

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