There's a big problem I have
Pale skin is always, always
Compared to alabaster
Or porcelain, you know
One of those stones or
Man-made ceramics that
For all their beauty
Are simply cold, hard
And achingly lifeless
And that simply won't do
When the arms that held me
Are warm, and so full of life
That the simple act of touch
Restores me and breathes
New life into my smile
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