If your fingers were to ever trace my spine, you'd perhaps fathom the love that's been induced in me for you, the goosebumps-inducing love that is slowly, but steadily augmenting. The love that's scared of being shunned. If your lips were to ever trace my smile, you'd perhaps comprehend that the smile spreads deep inside. If your hands were to ever trace my curves, you'd realise how they tense up with the expectation of our intimacy.
You do strange things to me without apprehending.
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