How could something so beautiful and perspicacious exist without being built, atom by atom, to create the unmitigated creature that the oxytocin in my brain lives for? He is the definition of beauty. His voice is like liquid gold as he mumbles words of praise directly into my mouth, his moans like warm whisky coating my throat and numbing my pains. His body against mine isn't good enough, i crave nothing more than to be able to crawl under his skin, and sit myself safely next to his heart where no one can hurt me or tear me away from him. He knows me like no other, he has re-written the purpose of my body, making me beautiful. He took the minuscule flicker of spark that was practically burnt out and poured gasoline directly onto it and cheered as it erupted and danced into life. He held me up, allowing more oxygen to flood into me, my body burning with sensations, my mind ablaze. Every breath down my neck makes me burn brighter, my back arches for him, anything for him. I never believed in God before, but how could a human make me feel the things he does? Our bodies are one, I am perfect when he is holding me. If he wished me dead I'd hand him the blade, I'd let him tear the flesh from my body if he saw fit. I'd give my dying breath to see him smile.This body is not mine, it belongs to him, he may do with it what he pleases.
