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Anonymous

Wachinagi

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Bronze Poet

This is about you.

This is about you.
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The slightest breeze is a gale force, pushing me closer to the warmth of her skin.  My intent to avoid her; to avoid any contact is laughable.  There is an energy there so fierce and alive.  She is an inferno and I am the air, pulled ever closer towards being consumed.  The glint of teeth behind her lips.  They part, revealing a smile of pure starlight.  And I am blinded.  Her hair cascades across her shoulders down to the pillow, like a restless song.  Every curve of her form so fatal to the unwary driver.  I slam desperately on the brakes, but they do nothing.  I yank the wheel over hard, but only spin more out of control.  Every bit of this woman is a danger.  Every ounce of her blood is a potion meant to enslave me.  I fall deeply under her spell, fall deeply into her embrace.  The peace I endure when she encircles me with those legs, the pain I forget when I kiss her neck, over and over it is too unreal.  I forget myself in her, I find myself with her.  If only I knew her name, if only she was less than everything.  If only I held her once before I loved her.  If only I knew better than to fall at all.  This loss of control promises a tremendous crash.  I know I’ll walk away from the wreckage, I just wonder how many new scars I’ll carry with me.





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