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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!"