A slow heartbreaking machine, like gears twisting bodies upon the dripping pillows of satin sheets as we kissed; standing before the mirrors of our own souls interrogating each other yet not looking with the poetry of our own eyes but with our lips. Bare before each other as our hearts sang out in rhythm knowing no other love existed except what we gave one another… then crumbling together forming one as our roots connect.


by René Magritte


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