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My Maryjane:
I make sweet love to my Maryjane,
yet can rarely afford her light.
A woman who sells herself to the night.
Amorphous as a plume of smoke,
and euphoric as a fallen leaf.
Inside me a fire you awoke,
the hottest of which i have yet to unsheathe.
The greyscale backgrounds of dreary tales pending,
are clouded by colors intertwining.
Painting the picture of my own happy ending,
the one i have been so earnest in finding.
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