Skin is the preferred organ of expression.
Let me stain your flesh with my longing, brand you with my hands.
Let me touch you, make you mine, as you have always been and never were.
Better not to take that chance. Keep your distance, forsake my trailing fingertips.
Knowing the words that spill from my lips are engraved upon my heart. Knowing this boon, once granted, will always remain.
I know why it is that you take me for a fool. My heart is but a spoil of the Love Game.

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