with the waxing of the moon, our desires build. it`s amazing, even separated as we are, we`re still synchronised. there is nothing to say, we know, we can feel. the tingle of skin, the ghosts of sensations past and longing for days yet upon us.
the elaborate fantasies, the beautiful stories, the spectacular dreams, inflame our passions, but self stimulation only serves to frustrate. barely an outlet, it`s becomes pointless.
i hear ghosts of our lovemaking, murmurs, whispers, shouts, screams, i can smell you, i long for your touch. the need for you touches my very soul.
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