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Prince Don Juan of words woos and then he’s gone, love ’em and leave, penetrates with his song. Net cast widely, swallows all in his path, doesn’t remember one night from the last. He’s just seeking pleasure until the dawn, parries and thrusts and then gladly moves on.

Always conniving to satisfy lust, moves from one to other, hides in love’s cusp: So many romped with but so few he’s touched. No love connection, flees in heated rush.

Sometimes out hunting he’ll retrace his tracks, seldom recalls luxuria’s former catch. Too often the hunted seem so inane, starting to doubt worth of this sweaty game. Spends time living in six walled, mirrored room, never advancing nor letting love bloom.

Tonight with his conquest he shall return, must feed the fire that consumes and burns. Somewhere she’s out there, his soft dominate, searching for lover who can satiate.

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