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With every line and curve and dip of their spines, the calligraphy of their bodies produce the art that decorates the vile nature of their sin. It's when she presses her fingers to the back of his neck that he realizes there's no ring around her finger. It's when she sighs his name into his mouth that he feels the scratches on his body no longer burn. It's when she keeps finding his lips to kiss him like he's intoxicating that he knows it in his bones: she's his, he's hers. He always will be.

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