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|  06-23-2010, 06:23 AM | #11 | 
| Timed Out How Do You Identify?: Mr. Prickly Porcupine Preferred Pronoun?: Butch - Hy, Hym, Hys Relationship Status: She has softened My quills Join Date: Dec 2009 Location: Permanently Banned 8/8/2011 
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			"Sonnet XVII I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz, or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off. I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul. I love you as the plant that never blooms but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers; thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance, risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body. I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride; so I love you because I know no other way than this: where I does not exist, nor you, so close that your hand on my chest is my hand, so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep. " — Pablo Neruda | 
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