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I will not be quiet, or gentle

you see,

for religions can exist

without incense or temples

in fact, they can live and breathe

in the salt you lick from my fingers, slowly,

and as my mouth opens

for my tongue to reach

the peach that sticks to my cheek

all the while, the beads of sweat slip

quietly through the hairs gathered at my neck

and you lean against me

and our breathing finds a rhythm

and that, my love,

is a revolution

in silence.

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