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Today I read your letter; today the words fell between the sheets and my bare skin. The letter was filled with erotic poetry for the carnal mind. Today I danced with words, held them in my hands, they fitted perfectly within my gently embrace of a lovers grip. I fanned through the pages of your letter smelled the paper and the ink,
My serotonin levels rose when my eyes scanned page after page of stanzas ‒and your heart felt mini-rhythms dreams of fantasies.
Your words ripped at my thoughts, my unbridle passion
I felt my clothes gentle peeled itself from my taunt flesh, by hands so gentle, so perfect, so forbidden, I waited as you surely slipped right out of your words, like a dream you were a weapon of passion, a weapon of my protection. You came expecting me to be like opera, like roses, like rest. In my minds-eyes I was not afraid of weapons, for I see flesh opened, and closed, bleeding dripping with passions juice, honey, milk and pussy juice, I was not afraid.
Theses little secrets to uncover, filled with little snippets of brilliance and brain ejaculation for me to digest.
Each single word were like a brilliant lover
Every one of my lovers needed me, whether for a minute or a year.
They lay beside me to run delicate fingers over my neck, and I smiled as their work-hardened hands made free with my soft skin. The linen I wore today fell from my shoulders right under their touch, revealing warm, fragrant flesh. They carried the scent of flowers, and ocean, and the unmistakable musk of man's desire. It went straight to my phallus, making my need for you as elemental as my need to breathe. At the end of the letter I laughed lightly into your mouth; I revel in what I could do to you today