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Image for the poem Wrought

Wrought

Fresh from making love
I smell your perfumed scent
      on my hands
When I touch my face
       My beard, my cock
Only an hour ago we lay impaled
Like the sharpened rods
       in an iron gate
Fitting together so neatly
One would imagine
       we might never be separated
       without welding, hack and hammer
Come take my hand
We shall build a fence to withstand
All that mankind may rain on us
Locked together for eternity
From bed post to the grave
My love...
Written by Greywolfman
Published
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