When I first met him, he was a wanderer, gypsy his eyes thirsty and his body fire— When I first saw her, she was a wonder, water to put out fire. The fountain between my legs dripped, gushy from the same spot of a leaking roof. Photo by John Rocha from Pexels.com Fire burnt from the pit of my stomach, hot coals and I knew I had a home. You will never wander anymore, Gypsy, I told him. Between her legs, she was patchouli: earthy and musky smell, sweet yet smoky, a balance of sweetness and romance— and for the rest of the night, I tasted her tanginess. Keep it that way, I told him and put out the fire. Image by 0fjd125gk87 from Pixabay
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