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chemical reactions, fiction


You give me no fever.

That, you must understand, is the difficult part. You give me no fever — I do not dream of the sinuous curves of your legs twining about mine — I do not fantasize about the warm cavern of your mouth, the delicious slip of your devil’s tongue against mine — I do not think about a future with you, any one, not tomorrow, not next month or next year, not the next hour or moment. I do not anticipate you, your texts or your phone calls, your presence or your voice.

You give me no fever. You give me no want.

You give me you and I do not know how I will ever live without you; I do not know how I will ever move on from you; I do not know where I begin and you end; I do not know what it is we have done.

I’d rather a fever. It would devastate me less at it’s inevitable conclusion.

I’d rather lust. The loss of this love will only sever my soul from this life.


About Quinn

In it but not of it. A reformed player, now watcher. Speaker of raw truths.



  1. Pingback: The good things | "Raw" She Said - 8 June 2014

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Raison d’etre

"Raw," she said. "I want something primal. I want something bare and naked. I want you to give me this life raw, unbidden, unhidden, free, fair, and true. Can you do that? Can you do that for me?"

One may only try.

May 2014
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