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With passing days
Their souls had come closer
Touched better, deeper;
Yet their frames
Had no flame, effortlessly tamed.
Vows of the hours of darkness
That commanded warmth and wilderness,
Were now lying silent, swallowed in slumber,
Wants hushed, and buried under.
Was it the ugliness of her built
Or the charm of some other guilt?
Oh she gasped at the thought of it;
Cleansing her mind of the dirt, every bit
Stared at his sleepy moonlit face in the dark
Touched his innocent soul, bodies, however apart