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Pupil.

Slip across the sclera,
cross the etchings of the iris,
drawn into the pupil
yet again.

Vortices
to a parallel within.
Mind spasming.

Boundaries blur as bonds deepen.
Lost in transient dissolution.

Something within me
itching for the deepest intimacy,
the erotic pull of puppet strings.

The very heights
of ocular coupling.

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