A Bed of Passion... The Rediscovered

    A bed of passion, where virgins and harlots alike have been received; a bed of earth that once nurtured the blossoms of Eden’s Garden, with breasts parched and shadowed; a bed where the unburied exiles of a long-lost paradise tasted fleeting bliss...

    Here, the dry lips of experience and the tender, unbloomed lips of youth intertwined in a fervent rite, each honoring the other, drinking of one another, becoming one in but a moment’s breath. A strong hand, now weightless, hovered above a slender forearm, barely brushing the velvet of its bashful softness with the tips of its nails.

    The stillness of an embrace, breath in place of words, ignorance in place of the bitter truth that bounds intimacy, rendering it almost beyond reach—a bed of forgetfulness instead of the post-coital tristesse of empty night roads, as barren as the promise unspoken...

    A bed of sanctity, where none are stained, none condemned; a bed that has known more true love than any fiery sermon, more than any desperate confession on earth.
    Rest your weary head, be ye youth or aged man, lay your heart upon this bed and breathe the fragrance of roses, preserved in the stillness of eternity.


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