Singularity, that's what you're.
That inexplicable cosmic situation that made of you, a perfect little infinite.
So singular in your complex plurality...
Every touch, breath, look, moviment, everything is plural, but singular upon your eyes.
The way you look, the way you place your hands through my waist, the path your fingers draw through my back, the form your lips paint my skin, the way your breath makes my fur get bristle, the power of your igneous eyes, working so hard to uncover and read all my lines, the form you take my body to you, and make it all yours, because you can't control the love running into your veins and want so bad to make me see it, feel it, love it....
You're singular. And made of me, your right point in time-space...
I'm the gravity that made you exist, I'm the time-space where you habit.
Made of my arms, your home. Made of my freckles, your constelations. Made of my curves, paradise. Made of my voice, your favorite midnight-symphony. Made of my wishes, your perdition. Made of me, your heaven & hell.
Singularity... A moment in the eternity, where you and I, are just a sigh.
Y.
21:29hs.
03/03/2019.
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