Dear My Love

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It’s lukewarm love that melts over me when I first wake up. Like the tantalizing sweetness of the stretch of sunlight in the morning, stirring itself in the folds of carpet, and warming the mold of my body in the velvet overlap I sleep inside. That peace that fills itself inside the silence of the bedroom; The sheer sunshine that presents colors of silver and white, spilling itself on the freedom of my walls and creating dances of patterns. It’s love that overwhelms me, like the rush of the tide. The cold shiny black racing against the bare of my skin knocking me down on my back, and engulfing me in its power and passion.

It carries in the wind, its smell, smothering me with the scent of wild berries. Strawberries, blueberries, raspberries. All fresh, free, and full with the scent of ripe juices, dripping off the end. The scent carries, and it whisks its gusty pleasure, like a hanging curtain, over me. It drapes me in a silk robe, lacing the essence of love in every movement I make.

And it’s only when I think of you, my love, that I feel this innocent and gentle; this indecent and guilty. It is only with you, my dear that I turn from a purple tinted Tulip to a little Lilly. Pink etching every wilted petal, swaying in the bite of the moonlight.





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