You are far from reach. And yet I wake with you. This inexplicable and enigmatic violet dawn, it breaks with you, with your scent filling this room, with your name on my lips, with the warmth of your skin somehow radiating through these hands, on these fingertips that cannot help but replace your touch, on the tips that vainly attempt to replicate your caress, on the tips, on the crimson peaks, on the creamy skin, on the scarlet flesh, on the woman ever yearning for your complex, lustful perfection.
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