This endless ache to trace
the curves of him
with my soft velvet tongue
biting gently with slow kisses
and drinking from his chalice
the curves of him
with my soft velvet tongue
biting gently with slow kisses
and drinking from his chalice
I miss those mornings where the house was loud and alive. The chattering of my children; the arguing, the laughing, the hurriedness of tryin...
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