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Breasts bare, tall and swinging as all deliverance could stand not an inch between lips of communication and lips of sexuality. Woman to lady, whore to midnight lust, watch for her prod against wine and beauty. Flesh upon story and novel, my sister tells all beyond star and unconsciousness. Breasts bare, um not a care upon dinner plate. Feed him well, they state. Goddamn! Inform me of something which tastes of virgin rose! Her story begins here. Breasts bare and not a care upon balcony, my sister opens, um God, as wide as mother’s salvation and I have mislaid her; lost her to the colors of him, the colors of daddy. Breasts bare and there I recline. Breasts bare, for I have never moved outside sneer and gasp.