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A Poem: How 

How do they do it,

when we've run to fat

or bones begin to show,

when muscles

have gone slack.

Such ease

to love the babe,

the girl, the boy,

for what we dream

they might become

or even when

the sex begins to show,

to burn, to glow.

Past that, it all begins to go.

Going, going

What does remain,

the love,

that tiny flame.

Speaking of...

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