Losing myself in warrior games, intertwined flesh,
The smell is hardly familiar, finely timeless.
From the sheet, trapped, or rather, wrapped in a toga,
Feel prisoner, yet with a slight sense of éclat.
My odd desire to win you never leaves me,
Tights up the bars of my cage, suffocating me,
And drawing me closer from my own perdition.
Will I find the courage to answer the question?
Mariana Dussin
1st August 2010
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