Honeypie,
Once again I can't dry my ink in peace. Neither with emptiness.
Rather, I leak feelings beyond emotions. My heart pours a thousand definitions of love.
You know, I thought I wouldn't write to you this early(hours after my first letter,barely hours after your reply) but the adrenaline rush of the muse escaped the cage. My eyes hunger for your voluptuous body more than these ears thirst of your voice. Numb are these fingers as they esteem to massage your tender skin and run touches in your silky smooth hair. My soul feels like running out of space to remand your fervent love.
I want you all for myself. I am not ready to share you with anyone, not the air you breathe not the light in your eye lens. I'm jealous of the blood that flows through your heart daily,does my love do so? I'm jealous of all the eyes that see your divine beauty, though random and uninterested. I'm jealous of every compliment you receive for how your beauty makes all that you clad classy. But I can do nothing about it. (And that makes me more jealous).Yet,you will be amazed on how our love paints trust over my jealousy, leaving me laughing at my stupid prejudices.
The last time I wrote you,my intellect was floored by your romantic juices that my grammar went packing. You may have never noticed my use of "This" instead of "These"(at least you never mentioned it in the reply) and if you did,how love restrained the grammarly in you. Don't even contest it,love is the concrete substance of our existence. Did you not sink it in my head with your zealous reply. Talking of replies,I long for one to this - like the dusk longs for dawn. The last one almost penned my life to heaven as every word made my heart skip.
Love,allow me to pause this reality for the sake of a perishable called time. Miles away,know that there's one who prays that God keeps you safe. Heart you.
Once again I can't dry my ink in peace. Neither with emptiness.
Rather, I leak feelings beyond emotions. My heart pours a thousand definitions of love.
You know, I thought I wouldn't write to you this early(hours after my first letter,barely hours after your reply) but the adrenaline rush of the muse escaped the cage. My eyes hunger for your voluptuous body more than these ears thirst of your voice. Numb are these fingers as they esteem to massage your tender skin and run touches in your silky smooth hair. My soul feels like running out of space to remand your fervent love.
I want you all for myself. I am not ready to share you with anyone, not the air you breathe not the light in your eye lens. I'm jealous of the blood that flows through your heart daily,does my love do so? I'm jealous of all the eyes that see your divine beauty, though random and uninterested. I'm jealous of every compliment you receive for how your beauty makes all that you clad classy. But I can do nothing about it. (And that makes me more jealous).Yet,you will be amazed on how our love paints trust over my jealousy, leaving me laughing at my stupid prejudices.
The last time I wrote you,my intellect was floored by your romantic juices that my grammar went packing. You may have never noticed my use of "This" instead of "These"(at least you never mentioned it in the reply) and if you did,how love restrained the grammarly in you. Don't even contest it,love is the concrete substance of our existence. Did you not sink it in my head with your zealous reply. Talking of replies,I long for one to this - like the dusk longs for dawn. The last one almost penned my life to heaven as every word made my heart skip.
Love,allow me to pause this reality for the sake of a perishable called time. Miles away,know that there's one who prays that God keeps you safe. Heart you.
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