My child.
My one and only. 
Your edges are mine. 
Your innocence plays at this old leather face in the wind.

My heartbeat; the engine for the rudder made of skin stretched too tight on me.
For you, it's a perfect fit. It's perfect music. 
Your hand fits in my hand, marrow in my core.
I go soft and hollow for you, malleable to your presence. 
We are humble warm eyes, meeting for the first...

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