Foreign Body

It has got to be the way you move.

The way you walk. The way those manly strides obey the all-knowing rapture in you. The way those shoulders square the air around you. The way your face looks when you glance from side to side. A deadly combination of a gentleman and a hoodlum – spinning the world in your hands; molding it into labyrinths with your brilliance that you, and only you, can dare permeate. A brilliance radiating from a mere laugh or a mere scoff. An intellect found in a whisper. Imagine a thousand suns cowering at the sight of your luminescence.

A microscopic mark on any surface and you would still influence a multitude.

To navigate the geography of your flesh. To own your heart-shaped lips. To engulf the history of your scent.

I want it all.

I want all of you.

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