Vague wanderings make your breath run ragged and your hands feel like last week's news.
Heart attacks are less broadcast than they should be despite the natural disasters they create. You're my only
natural disaster left between Hurricane Paris and the tsunami that's rolling through Japan this second...
I've dreamt about you already and the way that you might feel leaning against my inner
outer layer, sitting on my satin sheets of sickly sweet seduction.
Sinking, sticky, slowing inserted.
I could make you want me to want you.
I'd feel the way your pulse begins to slide along the wetness of my lips.
Music seems to smoke out of your silently breaking skin. You're shattered and explicitly harmful to the touch. I want you so much.
Blinking rapidly in the moonlight, I tattoo your sins along the inside of my eyelids til the day becomes another waterfall effect.
I'd like to demand only reciprocation of my wildest dreams from your blue tongued, sex scented highness.
We learned to do everything on our own with our eyes closed and our mouths open until the feeling became mutual and we fell.
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