Touch.

We lie here as if we were emerged souls. Using any kind of mind over heart in this situation would be reckless.

She is reckless.

I think I’m going to call an Uber”, she said with a quiver in her voice. “I hate it when you leave early”, with such conviction I had to replay his tone in my head. I’ve never left his place early but just like that, the ease of being in his arms swayed me to stay. Our communication is through touch; my hands, his skin, our energy.

Self saboteur.

Knowing what I do, I keep my feelings at bay. If it’s one thing I know well, it’s my heart. Yet, I still continue to entertain this idea. The idea is always hard to let go of. It feels real and I haven’t felt that in a long time.

Him.

Caressing his skin ever so gently, I shutter in my breath. When I touch you, its hard for me to catch that ever so deep breath. To touch him, is to get a feeling of what’s real. Sometimes it takes one soul to remind you of all that is honest and true with love.

I think I found my muse.

Because he won’t have it any other way.

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