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Here's the stuff we found when you searched for "she died and took her clitoris with her"

She said her father died of cancer in the sixties
She asked me to copy my poem into her notebook
I would have attempted to draw her if she had stayed that way.
What's she gonna look like with a chimney on her?
His ex-wife was so frigid, her clitoris was only the tip of the iceberg.
She bruised her knee. This is how we met.
The Venusian Kazoo: The Art of Buzzing the Clitoris with Your Lips to Give Her a Mind-Blowing Orgasm
Veronica loves manipulating her vagina until she explodes
They walk around her like she is in danger of breaking
She didn't wave goodbye so much as slightly raise her hand
I told her I could read her mind, but she didn't believe me. I could tell.
She was inside the music, with her eyes closed
She smokes. It wraps around her wrists and clings to her neck.
And she, with her beautiful words and such a fire burning inside
She was a committed romantic and an anarcha-feminist. This was hard for her because it meant she couldn't blow up beautiful buildings.
after her, I took my coffee black
Her grief is still too young to behave itself, so she never lets it out
She plugs her tears in the way you'd keep a dam from breaking
She sat in virginal white, eyes closed, with only her face in rose
She was so quiet that nobody heard her
She opened her eyes, looked at a world made entirely of white light
Her self image was not the force field she imagined it to be
does she need to touch her own face to know?
you never once told her how beautiful she was nor how much you truly loved her
I gave her my heart, she tore it apart, and who gives a fart.
She found her bliss between the headphones, and pursed her lips.
She wears her failed relationships like a shield
She opened her eyes and spoke in a very normal voice, just as if she were sane
She crashed her car trying to avoid a butterfly
Her perception of how gorgeous she is will be evident in her lack of movement during sex
She ties regrets around her fingers like forget-me-knots
She calls him Sugarcane. He calls her Hurricane.
I dreamed of her pulse long before I took it from her
In a quiet grove of pines under a frosty sky, he helped her out of the sack. She wore severe white hospital pajamas and was beautiful.
She does not rustle but her flesh has the moonlit shade of a silver birch
I come home, she lifted up her wings. I guess that this must be the place.
the way she wears her weary
Some nights, alone, he thinks of her, and some nights, alone, she thinks of him
She does not take her trip. She does not shout out loud.
serene. She sips her tea
I don't think she even knows that I make her smile
She practices her speech
while she sleeps, i write myself into her life
When she sleeps, is she not moving her legs aside for an unknown garrison?
You put a hand on her hip, she permits it.
Would you like to penetrate her shell, insinuating yourself among the pages of the books she is reading?
She is willing to attempt to retrieve the data. Go with her.
She was the prettiest, loveliest cat at the ball and she had upon her fine gilded whiskers.
She thought about giving him her heart
She knows no truth except her own.
She nicknamed her vagina "Crusty"
I don't like her because she won't like me
She asked me to read her a poem
she gave her heart to a falling star
She flies with her own wings
She disappeared as if he had only dreamed her
All the while he was talking she was thinking what his whiskers would feel like on the back of her neck
It happened to everyone else; she swore it wouldn't to her
Sometimes the apathy she saw made her want to curl up and cry
she left her handwriting all over the calendar
When she woke up, her hands were still dreaming
You can play with my ex-girlfriend, but treat her like the lady that she is.
She is so beautiful, I gave up Nihilism for her
I don't tell her these things, and she doesn't ask
Her innocence fell. She kicked at it some, frowned, and left it there because it was beautiful.
She grew a little older, while he was telling her
She was never mine. I always shared her.
The portion of her face she allows me to see
He touched her once and she turned into a golden creature. He never touched her again.
At night, her eyes closed, she would
She always was devious in her beauty
She who leaves men as flaming wrecks in the ditch on the side of the road in her wake, yea, even submarines
The emotion on her face was always the one that she was feeling in her heart
She is the queen of accidental magic. Her used kleenexes, taken by the wind, become soulful ghosts.
it was just as if she held her breath for 82 years
she had already found her party
She Will Have Her Way: The Songs Of Tim & Neil Finn
She gets caught in the little world beneath her sheets
She Will Have Her Way
A dose of mystery slipped into her cocktail while she was in the ladies' room
She was most amazed by the obvious, like January and the fact that I could not possibly keep her.
why she makes her wishes at 7:07
if you fear spells, look away when she decides to share her hair with the wind.
i gave her my heart. she gave me a pen.
she doesn't write, doesn't tell you stories, but somehow it's her words that spring to mind at those crucial, terrifying moments, and for that you are eternally grateful
Susan Goldman, who has cervical cancer, is partly thankful as she braces herself but changes her mind as she's sprayed with burning jet fuel.
little pieces of her tragically poetic attempts at being loved that she was startlingly aware of, today
She is the sea. Above her, he is thunder.
She picked herself up, wiping away at her dignity
she lit her thumb on fire
Because I still love her, because I know she still loves me.
A girl I know had her jaw wired shut, and she vomited.
Since she whom I lov'd hath paid her last debt
She Called in Her Soul to Come and See
She, the Last Leviathan. She, the Station Agent. Chin on her Palm, she Watches Every Departure.
She asked me if I loved her and I showed her the tattoo
She keeps her lies everywhere
She is a night of dark trees, but he who is not afraid of her darkness will find banks full of roses under her cypresses
Robert Lionel Fanthorpe fills up the word count in a science fiction novel: she brushed her teeth
She always confused her greys with white.
Her sleeves ride up on her arms when she moves
She said, while hugging a bowl of turnips close to her bosom
I haven't seen her in a month. She is still beautiful.
The movie in her mind
See her talk
The World I Made for Her
Today I saw her again
Victoria Wood
Song of a Young Lady to her Ancient Lover
The Soul selects her own Society
Herr Geist (user)
notes I never gave her
From Her to Eternity
standing off to the side of the lobby, watching the hostess adjust her hair
Dig up her bones
I gave her two daisies. This is how I met your mother.
I followed the light in her eyes around the room, staying within range
How Ozma Refused to Fight for Her Kingdom
Make the Moon Cover her Blushing Face
To Her Mind
To Her Face
Tell Stacey I love her
I passed her on the street
Let Her Go Down
My skin is dark. Hers is the color of certain lilies.
The world is her sketchbook
My mother wants her mother to die
my baby sleeps on her head
Her Headlights Illuminated a Death
Don't tell her she's beautiful
I watched her from afar
What makes her so cute?
The sun was caught playing unashamedly in her auburn hair, setting our world on fire with giddiness
I can't tell the girl I love that I love her
I ran over an old woman with her own car
Uh, are you looking at my joystick to impress her, or are you just an asshole?
I don't think I would want to date her now, anyway
Her raised middle finger came into focus
Sleepless amid her ships, her houses, her incalculable wealth
using a circle to dot her "i"s
My girlfriend and her pillow
Performing her communion with quick slashes up and down her arm
I don't think I was rude to her, just cold and curt
Every beautiful woman has someone who is tired of her
To hear her sing
To Her Body
her kitty cat (user)
One day I wrote her name upon the strand
Nice Legs, Shame About Her Face
A soft wonder bites her lips
The Dancefloor is our Mother. Her heart beats at 125 BPM.
Helping people cheat
All that was left of her was a damp handkerchief
The Cook, The Thief, His Wife and Her Lover
Rosy Palm and her five daughters
hers
her
The Ground Beneath Her Feet
Do Her
Herr
Looking back from time to time, her tears falling fast
her arms around me
A woman and her Cock
Lady Daibu And Her Lover
Meant For Her
The Bride Stripped Bare by Her Bachelors, Even
the small of her back
river, in all his innocent beauty and home in hers
I think I've forgiven her
Her Body Had Knots and Hollows
Making her presence known
Making her presence known (part 2)
Making her presence known (Part 3)
What do I call her?
Calling her number and having a male voice answer
Someone outlined against the sky, the sun too bright to see her face
I remember when it was me who made her skin flush
I don't want to see her
The woman with her legs apart
right under her surface
I remember when it was me who made her toilet flush
Her name was Natalie

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