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When I think 'grounded',
I never anticipate the fall.

Soft under your fingertips,
held with grace,
your single eye freckle,
velvet lips my sweet surrender.

My entire being
a mote of breath
passed between us
endlessly inspiring.

A singularity midst
the tips of our tongues,
galaxies coalesce,
eons pass with each
gentle
tap
on your collarbone.

From dust,
to dust,
no death to do us part. 

Only you,
and me,
ad-infinitum.