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Beyond Orange

“Tell me about…un-rhymable things?” she said.

Guttural shudders.

The sound of sloppy passion

forgetting to breathe.

The weight of the air

when your nerve endings howl at

not enough too much.

The spasming taste

of lost control as your heart

rips you in your skin.

The wild-eyed feeling

of my buried orgasm

belonging to you.

“These are things that cannot be rhymed,” he answered.

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