Those three words are said too much; too much certainly, that they may have lost its own candor—innocence even. They might… No scratch that. They’ll never be enough. And thus, I shall negate everything that’ll come out from your mouth. Everything that’ll escape between your lips—the very same with pink, plump flesh that I yearn for. And the very same where I have seen that lured mine even with full cognizance that behind it were pair of beautiful, long fangs. I let myself be bitten.
I shall address the familiarity the image is giving me: the contrast of how saturated the picture despite the wryness radiating from it.
And that’s how polar our personalities can be. Indeed, you’re due west, and I’m on a straight line heading east. And we may travel along the equatorial line, the tropic of cancer or the tropic of Capricorn—it won’t matter. For as long as the Earth rotates on its axis we’re bound, destined even, to meet each other again.
As the turtle races towards the sun, with it shall be the length of my loving of you. I shall whistle of a happy tune: no one shall know I’m afraid and lost without the nearness of you.
As the water flows down the river or run deep in the vastness of the seas, with it shall be the gentleness and tenderness of being with you.
As the fire blazes it ferocity shall come with it the burning passion and desire to love you over and over again.