The energy pouring out of you right now is surreal. Like I placed my finger gently in an outlet. My head thrown back. My mouth so dry. My eyes so wet. But I refuse to cry. Your fingers tremble graciously when you stroke my lips. But just as quickly, your open fist tugs wildly at my hair. This is happening. Blurry visions of skin on skin. Pink tongues, brown hair, sharp eyes, wicked smiles. Intoxication is magnificent. Your perfume is as if the only liquor in this room. And I? I am an alcoholic. You are a delicate champagne. I want to pop you loose. Leave you empty, and drink you in all by myself. I was never one to share. I just can’t help but taste the aroma of your presence with my tongue no matter how arousing it might be. Because that is all that life consists of. Constant arousal. Sometimes through the tongue, our stomachs, our eyes, our hearts, and elsewhere. Where would we be without this beautiful state of being. I am drunkenly aroused by you, to a lethal point. 


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