Libido Unleashed, it roams like a great, grieving dog, yellowed with age.  It clatters down, eyes those who approach and warns them away.  I know when it's had its full of grief and murmur that I am its owner again. It trots, slow beside me, backward glances.  Nudges my hand, before it runs charging a squirrel up a tree.  I can chain it and it will strain, whimpering for my bed, or let it roam, be torn to shreds, free to sing the sweetest songs.

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