The wind is singing in the trees, the night swollen with untamed mystery.  Every moment with you has a timeless quality, as though I were searing them each in real time into the storied memory of my deeper self.  The wind is in the trees, the sensation of that wild power already enmeshed swirling in the lingering taste of your ravenous lips; entangled in the incorrigible pounding of my heart through my flesh.   I don't want this to end, the way I experience you as both an evanescent moment and an incandescent promise.  I don't want to watch you leave me, I want to draw you back with the magnetic pull of my fervour for you.  All this and more fills me as I watch the curve of your back, and the measured steps you take towards tomorrow.  The mist of rain tingling on my skin.  The tendrils of my hair lifting ever so slightly to the turbulent sea of air all around.  The heat of your body still rising within me, like a waking dream.  The expresso cadence of your voice still sliding down the softness of my wanting skin.  The notes of blue morning running through me, subjugating me to its insistent truth, that I am yours, already oathbound to our visceral connection.  

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