Between yes and know rides smooth flesh’s yearning tension filled slow thick wanton thrust. Unsure skittish quick hope of connection told in throbs and slides of shadow’s lit late night hunger. Hallway doors bare arms as wandering pink tornado swirls gasps and hot velvet tea. Small heart songs come full lipped, gasping halt breath found fingers hoping for more, evermore. Passion’s words unfound, there is no language, only a soul missing noun.
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