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poetry, the erotics

ache

I ache every time the sun sets

I curl around the softness of my pillow
It fails to be even slightly adequate a replacement
For the softness of your body 

I toss; I turn;
I twist myself to knots;
I struggle against the necessity of sleep

I ache
I ache for you
I ache for your kisses and slick touches
I ache for the lazy, crackling huffs
Of your unconscious breaths

(I miss even the tussle for the top sheet
The disagreements and navigation
Of the space between me and you)

I ache
I ache for you.

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About Quinn

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

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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.

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