Solum

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Warmth and wetness engulf, lost in the caress of lips and tongue

Nearing the precipice, to fling into the abyss

Lifting my head, I catch a glimpse of sorrow.

Your visage dissipates like fog, leaving my gliding hand

Grip releases, head falls to the pillow, rivulets of dampness on my cheeks.

I am alone.

.

.

.

And lonely.

Published 6 months ago

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