Beneath the skin, blood-red, lip-curling assaultof come-hither tart-tongued and siren-sweet lure of succubusbut life-giving - a suppleheart its fruit.
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[My porch, 8am, 1/7/09]
Ice has formed across my tea, my toast sugared unsweetly white, eggs cemented to the plate. Ah, but the strawberries, gleefully flush in the snow!
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