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I like to call you mine

Lips against my skin and I wonder if you can feel the love dripping from my pores. My breath is caught in my throat and any of it that slips out ends up in your mouth and I wonder if you can taste it, too.

I let your hair slip between my fingers and I can’t help but be fiercely aware of your hands on my hips, on my back, under my shirt. It’s okay, though, only your skin seems to soothe the fire consuming mine. Is that what love is supposed to do? No one ever taught me.

I’ve never been kissed the way I try to, and I’ve never been looked at – observed if you will – the way I do and I’ve never been touched as softly the way I do. But you seem to ensnare the sincerity that I’ve been aching for.

Wild thoughts in my head run rampant and make it hard to think, hard to calm my enraged senses. Yet when you look at me you can silence anything but the reverberating sound of “I love you I love you, oh, God, do I love you.” I can’t help but wonder where you learned that from.

In the middle of kissing and laughing and our stupid, cute joking is when my breath comes in like shallow waves. Whenever it reaches my surface, I have to take a breath to keep from shouting my love because it almost feels wrong to not tell you. When your eyes meet mine in our intimacy, my love tries to spill out in tears because it’s then I could not feel more loved, more wanted. You see me in my most vulnerable times and still you can kiss me. Still you can hold, and touch, and want me.

I let my eyes linger on you a little longer, I let my smiles creep up a little easier, and I let my love shine a little brighter. I’m certain in the middle of the night, under the sheets with our legs all tangled up, that you can see it as clear as day.

I just hope you feel it, too.

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