January 27

Call. On the phone. Face on my screen. Your voice crawls
out constantly. From corners. It drones. It sprouts
between stones. It hints. Whispers. Just once. Just one scream

could atone for all this piquing. Would
clear this doubt. This alone. Just to hear
your voice. Without question. Your own. Pure
bliss. Just a groan, from your lips.

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Author:

A day is not done, until it's filled with words.

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