Red and white abstract expressionist art.

She pulls my strings. From across the room we feast on each other. I can feel the heat of her gaze calling my name, revealing my weakness for her. I flinch and stutter, hoping my sly upturned lip wasn’t mistaken in the conversation at hand. I look over my shoulder, engrossing myself in our fiery affair. Illicit, no. But brimming with desire and reverie. We play these games only for ourselves. On a pedestal, firmly grounded and unsullied by regret. The here and now, our presence and the volumes silently spoken. I let it remain enigmatic, a question in the minds of those in our circumference. They whisper and probe, filling in the gaps they imagine to exist. Telling our stories even further removed from 3rd person. But solid and barricaded, our love grows. Underground, the taproot reaches a source untainted by the words they pollute with. Protected, in solace, we craft our vessel. Where trepidation once took hold, calm & confidence has rolled in like a tide of aquamarine. Like two elements we rise to our calling. Her, in encompassing flame, and I, in flowing immersion.

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