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Three tears is all that I can almost shed,
I'm wound up tighter than any thread,
as you lay on white sheets upon the bed,
I can't help but think you look beautiful dead.
My hand would love to touch your skin,
my head is full of the most atrocious sin,
but you are so cold and won't let me in,
and how can a veil of lust be so thin.
You can not be any older than thirty,
the way your ******* curve is so **** flirty,
and my mind is full of images salaciously *****,
you are so so tempting, naked and skirt free.
And even though I despair to caress you,
its pointless now to seek to impress you,
my job is to clean, arrange and dress you,
make you up to look just like the best do.
But oh! my lovely corpse I have a need,
to see you buried carrying my seed,
nobody will ever know, for secrecy I plead,
you will look beautiful in spite of my wicked deed.
© Pagan Paul (21/01/18)
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There are many kinds of love.
Some of them are very very wrong.
But I never shy away from writing about taboo subject matter.
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