I feel primal. I am consumed by limerence and disarmed by your small, subdued smile. I never enjoy the fight anyway. A piercing and intimate gaze dissects me. You seem to have me all figured out. I am bare on the table and all that’s in focus is the way the sterile light reflects stars in your eyes. Sharing the sacred air of your stratosphere is shrill and enticing. You are luring me, there is danger, I know this. It does not slow my step. I have never surrendered this quickly but letting go of my white-knuckled grip is easy if it means I’ll get to hold your hand.
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