The New Man.

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Her hand slid slowly down his spine
fingertips tingling, powerful threads binding them together.
She could almost see the juicy, beating heart
inside of his leathery skin.

His story was a sad one; she guessed; he looked
tattered around the edges.

She decided to trust him, to believe that he could teach her secrets
about herself.

So she opened him, and read.

Sandra Hurst ~2017

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