Caricamento in corso...

Myself, not you.

Darling I don’t think it’s the taste of your lips
 
and your lips alone, that make me feel like I’m
 
floating. In pure air, liquid gold, ecstasy. I think
 
that is what they call it. Nor is it the way your arms fall precisely
 
into the rise and fall of my waist, that sends a thousands shivers
 
down my spin and sets my brain on fire. So that thoughts don’t
 
seem to exist anymore. Electric. Shock. It’s definitely not
 
the feel of your warm body pressed close to mine, so I can note
 
the rhythm of your breathing, the thumping of your chamber
 
of a heart, that makes me want to trap time in a vacuum
 
so it forever stagnates.
 
What I love dear, is that you fill a space in my head
 
I ran from for years. Silence it, calm it,
 
quench it. So that for some time I am not myself but
 
you and I.

Altre opere di lucy...



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