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The ocean speaks to me in misty whispers, tells me secrets from across the atlantic… I dip my toes in the freezing water and reminisce about the times light fluctuated on your skin and extended to my spine.

There are mornings when I wake up and feel your love engulfing me with tenderness. And there are nights when I fall asleep with the memory of your fingertips resting against my hips.

My love, you are made of tiny particles of perfect moments that extend into infinity. You are stitched together with droplets of generous affection and lightness. You cradle my baffled heart with such ease, it makes its walls expand with unwavering happiness.

You are skin and bones and constant wonder and I wander in all the words you whisper to me. And when I listen closely, I can almost touch your lips with mine and draw breath from your love.

But love, most of all, you are home.

The unbearable state of desire.

My name is forever tainted by the sound of your breath. It is in deep embrace with each moan that escapes your muffled lips.

My name has been tamed. Each time they call it, I throb in anticipation of your fingernails digging into my spine. Chain my vocal chords with strands of your hair, my voice quivers when I hear yours.

My skin has changed patterns and my veins realigned following the trace your touch has left lingering. I itch unwillingly, feeling phantom cravings from faded deliriums. Perhaps the worst is feeling you so close into my hips, swinging from side to side, teasing with your smile. Perhaps the worst is reaching out to grab you and collecting dust.

My soul is famished for the spark you send dripping down my neck each time your hand touches mine in the morning, almost aching from the sleepy absent mindfulness of the night. And in this turmoil of beautiful agony, I breathe you in, take all of you into me, as if it were the last time we meet.

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Pink Diaries By Asher Moss.