I am a baker with a single loaf of bread, eager to be caressed by one tongue.

I am a singer, throat stitched to a looping melody of longing.

I am an author with a once inked page, never turned, forever dog-eared.

I am the artist whose paintbrush knows the weight of just one color, unbroken strokes across a lone canvas.

My devotion to you is one such as this— to stray from my infatuation would neve...

Soak in my body when you are withering and be effervescent evermore, for I would give a gallon if you’d only ask for a sip.

I rame to the heavens not for redamancy, but to allow me the opulence of watching the sun stain your cheeks pink.

Even if I may only witness you, so resplendent and piquant, I will never forget our nights of balter....

We found ourselves at each other’s throats again on this plain Tuesday night.

Such an odd thing it is, hurling such disparaging remarks at a lover over something as simple as a dirty plate left out overnight.

Because beneath the soured face and bared teeth you present to me now, I see what each day with you offers.

The sensation of fingers uniting with my own, accompanied with the usual peck on my...