Things get sexy roundabout the first time we have intercourse.
'I am abandoning social mores with unseemly haste,'
he breathes in my shell-like, before stripping
the flesh from my torso and rolling me in TCP.
Pain and pleasure intermingle as I die horribly.
He smokes a croissant with a cigar in the middle -
decadent as shit. 'Who can chart the enigmatic reaches
of human sexuality?' he observes cannily,
blowing smokehearts with arrows through them.
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