There is a cold and dark fire within,
It burns, chars and maligns,
It curses and belies my

Never dared I to flutter my staccato lashes,
Never did I push into a purple pout my bashful

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fear has knocked hope clean out
and feasting on femininity
is now lodged behind the

Are the motions of her breasts, her feeling?
Do their tender curves tell her tender thought;
Which