The one hundred and thirty-ninth thing I love about us is those occasional silly, giggly talks we have that I would never set down in the permanent record lest one of our yams find it and rub my nose in it.
I promise not to tell if you won't!
Soft, so soft, your lips against mine. I am grazed by their grace and drunk on their wine. We touch and we taste, endlessly divine engrossed...
I promise not to tell if you won't!
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