An hour later and your scent has completely absorbed into my skin. Three hours and the knots from wandering fingers have returned to their sedated positions down the back of my neck, free from the frenzy. Two days and the swelling seas of passion below have calmed; leaving a surface stillness hiding the swirl of emotion below. Five days and the illusion of memory clears, no longer lost within the deep gaze of possibility. A week and the downy softness has disappeared from clean sheets, turned cold in their emptiness. Ten days passage of time and the hunger finally sleeps; awaiting the return of the muse.
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