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Nov 2020
The lure of her bed is
much different than mine.
I never knew another’s bed in which I’d spend time.
One a cradle, a soothing mess of pillows in the dark.
One thirteen miles away and a hundred worlds apart.
I collapse into mine when I feel my life dim.
Hers I snuggle into for the light and anticipation.
I’ve never experienced such dopamine from somebody’s touch;
The excitement of my own fingers wasn’t excitement, but dull lust...
Dianthus caryophyllus-- sweet and lovely.
Written by
Acora  18/F/she/her/hers
(18/F/she/her/hers)   
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