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No bleeding skin.

No rotten flesh.

No sound of cracking bones.

No pulp of entrails.

No marble tables in a morgue.

Roughly,wildly, carelessly

words, deeds, thoughts

like scalpels dissecting

the immaterial, impalpable

essence of human being.

Autopsy of a soul.

No intense looks.

No warm embraces.

No comforting hands.

No spoken words.

No cosy alcoves.

Imaginatively, virtually, sensitively

written lines

like flashes of light warming

the untameable, pulsating

core of a human being.

Heliotropism of a love.

 

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