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I don't care what you've heard:
The scent of sex never goes stale.

It clings, true, rather stubbornly:
Adapting itself to the shape of your body
Bathing in the memory of the things it has seen.
It is ageless:	it will never tire of you
		before you tire of it

Like a toy won at a fair
or torn Christmas paper, never discarded
it softly bellows the same song over and over:

"Look here!
I am the evidence!
As I was created, this body lived!"