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On(c)e.

Surface layer of skin,
hypersensitive.
Conscious personality,
so hypervigilant.

Yet deep beneath hides
a locked hatch
concealing a catacomb
so labyrinthine

with a surface cold as stone:
a degree of frigid
so foreign, yet in touching it
you fail to shudder.

Just so happens it matches
your body temperature,
so that soon you cannot tell

where my cold begins
and your own ends

and we are one again
once again.

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