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The rhythm never stopped. The temperature rises. The smell of pheromones drip like fingers. Your tips down to your hips, coming back up to taste your lips. Our imagination soaking the lather, rubbing it in against our skin. Impulses. The heart skips a beat. Excitement opens. Wide. Ideas become reality. Rustless legs tangle. Catching glimpses of the exposed curious hands. Pull closer. The thermometer explodes o'rush of amnesia. Paralysis trembles. Scared to life. Rhythm. The rhythm never word
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