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The Deviant

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I am enamored by Beauty:
Verity I cannot obtain
That nymph of emotion,
Flaunting jaunting hips
Sleuth of imperfections
And heartache, I wane
In Her harpy face
Greater the fool I am to know
There is song far sweeter
Than the voice of her praise
The sun is more piercing
Than her listless gaze
The rain beats harder
Than her bleeding heart
So why do I
So why do you…
Clamor for her insincere
Affectations of the mind
Hold flesh and heart on infinite strike
Forsake our faith in the beholder
We will nuzzle our heads
In her perfumed bosom
And eventually,
Die by asphyxiation





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