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Didn__ I stand there once, white-knuckled, gripping the just-lit taper, swearing I__ never go back? And hadn__ you kissed the rain from my mouth?And weren__ we gentle and awed and afraid, knowing we__ stepped from the room of desire into the further room of love? And wasn__ it sacred, the sweetness we licked from each other__ hands? And were we not lovely, then, were we not as lovely as thunder, and damp grass, and flame?
Cecilia Woloch
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Didn__ I stand there once, white-knuckled, gripping the just-lit taper, swearing I__ never go back? And hadn__ you kissed the rain from my mouth?And weren__ we gentle and awed and afraid, knowing we__ stepped from the room of desire into the further room of love? And wasn__ it sacred, the sweetness we licked from each other__ hands? And were we not lovely, then, were we not as lovely as thunder, and damp grass, and flame?

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