My One

In the quiet,
in the dark,
your hands on mine,
your mouth on mine.
You taste of cinnamon and fire,
of sandalwood and blood.

Before you,
the world was at my feet.
Since you,
I find it brilliant and jeweled,
ripe for devouring,
as it has never been.

I have never known a hunger
as I do for your touch,
for the companionship you granted me,
when no one else could.

No one completes me as you do,
my beloved,
my only,
my one.

About Catastrophe Jones

Wretched word-goblin with enough interests that they're not particularly awesome at any of them. Terrible self-esteem and yet prone to hilarious bouts of hubris. Full of the worst flavors of self-awareness. Owns far too many craft supplies. Will sing to you at the slightest provocation.
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