October 7, 2008
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She is of the iron, which does not bend.
A lustrous craft, born to rend.
Hand upon hand, a dance through the night.
Her love gives me courage, as I send her a flight.
Forged upon fire, two edges of blade.
Glistening in crimson she sings me aubade.
This rapacious hunger and thirst does not end.
A kiss is a wound that I cannot mend.
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