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  • I miss having the touch of your eyes. The fingers at the small of my back when I go to bed. I miss the poetry in the air when you're in my room.

    I miss the presence. I miss existing with you. I miss the life of an artist in love.

    I miss your flesh touching mine. I miss the song in your eyes. When I wake up in the morning and you're already ahead of me working away and sorting your lists on your gadgets.

    I miss showing you off. I miss being seen. I miss being loved by your eyes. I miss your toes.

    I want to show you the twirling shadows on my walls. I want to stop sighing in pain. I want to fuck and dance and sing. I want to be cute. I want to be coy. I want to seduce you.

    I wish you'd find a something to respect in me naturally. I wish for things I'm ashamed to tell you.

    A lot is already lost. This could not be happening I tell myself for real. But its true. You and I. Tough game.
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