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The skin belongs
to the one who makes it bristle without touching it,
Every touch of the soul,
is a glimmer in the shadow,
transforms into pure light
what the night dazzles.
And the heart, to whom it is
capable of disturbing it,
who knows how to navigate
storms without breakage.
Making its essence flow in streams
of love its essence,
unleashing in the chest
tides of presence.
The skin, a soft canvas
of shared dreams,
the heart, a refuge
of lost secrets.
There is no finger to touch,
no footprint that matures,
when you feel the touch
of love that lasts.
Let the skin bristle,
Let your pulse quicken,
For in every beat
love is considered.