The two hundred and seventy-fifth thing I love about us is getting you just a little drunk and me very sloppy drunk and saying a whole bunch of ridiculously sappy, mushy stuff to each other.
Why do we have to get drunk?! (Not that I mind getting drunk, just a little ...)
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...
Why do we have to get drunk?! (Not that I mind getting drunk, just a little ...)
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