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  • Writer's pictureLaura Grá


I was born as a mistress of love,

Opening more shirts than hearts,

Alluring dormant senses that uncurl

The ego’s dark and stubborn parts.

I slip my blind hands under your clothes,

Muting screams of lust

Discarding slowly heavy loads.

Sheltering kisses that will last.

I sin like a troubadour of night,

I cut my gutters from within,

Throwing my nudity in plain sight,

Cause when you finish, I begin.

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