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It feels white

Today I'll see you again ... And Its not that my soul feels proud about that fact. My mind tells me: "no", but my body wants to be filled, saciated, disturbed. 
Who does not end up becoming the slave of their sensations and desires? Everytime you touch my body, everytime you arrive at it, I can find your eyes looking at it as I were a muse. The sensations are activated and my body shudders when the caresses bloom over my skin. Every touch is a sudden explosion that gives genesis to a bunch of shooting stars. The moment starts when I found myself asking: How can such this banal act give rise to smooth and pure sensations? You are passion, you are desire, you are the artist. I have given you the power, of what ever you want to. That's why I have to clear my body before your inked hands want to write over it.  I've been thinking that you'll want to pour your nectar over me, and like a good girl I've anxiously cleaned every space (thinking that you might want to …

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