Filthy
The way you fit. Into the crevasses of my body, the niches of my life. The way I was engineered to sit in between your legs, with your arms wrapped around me, and your lips on my neck. The way our fingers link each others with out the slightest hesitation. The way it was almost as if someone had planned on me loving you. And it's almost as if something was missing. Like I was meant to love you, but not born to love you. Like true love is lying in the darkest shadows of each verminous ally or blackened bar, as we walk, hands around my waist, to the beach. It's like true love could only lie in the eyes of another, and I could only love in the arms of another.
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