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Miasmatic Bishop

Black lace smoke meanders through the air,
Infecting lungs with a venomous lip to lip kiss.
Its tongue traces your body,
Inside and out,
So seductive and satisfying.
Its hot, steamy breath moans in your ears,
Enticing you to give in to its augmenting tsunami of smoke embodied addiction.
You open yourself;
Give in to aesthetic desires;
Let every breath envelop you entirely.
It slithers in,
Whispering sweet, milky lullabies,
Driving you into lethal suffocation.
But the frenzy feels good,
And so does this toxic kiss.
It tinges every bone with exhilerating desire;
It continues to sing until your lungs give out,
Dissolving you into midnight ash.
But it feels so good,
Even as it lies you six feet under the stars.

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