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| >> Static Item >> Poetry >> Adult >> ID #172233 |
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The Honeymoon Is Over What am I now, hon? Cold leftover to be wasted Once turned on and tartly tasted? Do I no longer merit mating, Tits no longer titillating? Are my mysteries no more, That you'd rather roll and snore? So .. be .. it. You'll discover in the morning, maybe I am not a sure thing, baby.
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