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The Pheonix
By trembleclef
http://throb.typepad.com/throb
You.

I really can't help myself when we're like this.

The tension. The torture.

I am a trembling, whirling pervert. You are a perfect thing of nature, in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Inside you is a world of young and ancient beauty.

I hope it doesn't hurt too much.
Every emotion I make cuts you deeper.

With each stroke you are less yourself and more a thing I have created.
Our love burns and burns and burns you up.
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