The first and last of all sensations.
Your spine rests in a smooth arch, penetrating the darkness with its soft outline. I could trace its contours with the wet edge of my tongue, turning your combination with my passion, and typing your password with the tips of my exploring fingers. I could see your lips in the dark, the rough texture of them spiking the night with their glistening punctuality.
Every word you say will be forever lost in the satin darkness like a thousand dandelion seeds blowing into the wind, never to be found again. Children pick out their forms as they rest among lawn-mown grass and budding golden dandelions ready to be plucked and given to mother. We will let our bodies lie, entangled in their sweat and fervor, writing poetry in the moon light, waiting to be picked like flowers or weeds.
And this is the alpha and the omega, the first and last of all sensations.
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