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What can be harder than metal or bone?' She asked, ivory champing on the bit And she spoke with iron, stoking, Poking the fire. 'Fire.' My hearth stuttered in protest, but By blackened, guttered tongues I could not speak And her belief was left untouched. There's charcoal in my breath My lungs clutch fiery coals She knew, she told me so And iron only felt the touch of my chest She stoked the flames And from between my cagèd ribs I coughed She held out her hand And the yellow licked her palm, bristling She laughed. 'What's harder than metal or bone?' she mused And poked my chest some more. 'Fire.'
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Jul 3, 2016
Jul 3, 2016 at 2:51 PM UTC
Stoked
What can be harder than metal or bone?' She asked, ivory champing on the bit And she spoke with iron, stoking, Poking the fire. 'Fire.' My hearth stuttered in protest, but By blackened, guttered tongues I could not speak And her belief was left untouched. There's charcoal in my breath My lungs clutch fiery coals She knew, she told me so And iron only felt the touch of my chest She stoked the flames And from between my cagèd ribs I coughed She held out her hand And the yellow licked her palm, bristling She laughed. 'What's harder than metal or bone?' she mused And poked my chest some more. 'Fire.'
Porto-graffiti
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Jul 3, 2016
Jul 3, 2016 at 2:51 PM UTC
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