bird song and blue light. holes in the armour. daylight comes in
I lie in pretended languor wishing you'd touch my hair. I wish for a brave heart and brave thighs, the kind that would take away your ability to move. I wish for another moment when energy surges between us, screeching 'almost! almost!'
I wonder if I really want rougher skin and manners, if I really need kind words to become moans.
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