And we learned to speak in tongues
And your art became our religion
Your sex my language
My breasts your soul
We dove in a promiscuous lascivity
And we never recovered
We laughed at their opinions
We basked in our sin
When Night became our day
And passions became shorter
I bid you adieu
And you tied your Florsheim's
And walked away
I know there are days when you stop
And write me poetical nonsense
You can still smell my perfume
Entwined with my linen sheets
On your skin
And you weep
Little do you know
I still sigh
For you
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