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Bowing the strings.

At last, night fall.

A heavy breeze thickens.
Bodies like waves,
we rise and fall.
Tangled in sheets,
our own curtain call.

A small flame flickers,
in the corner casting shadows.
Of two lovers mending,
showing the curve of their backbones.

A submissive darkness,
touched only by heat.
A desperate affection
of bowing the strings.



Written by IntoTheRain
Published
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