Her gold chain hanged down her neck as her lips traced the outline of jaw, she felt like a forest fire out of control and I was the wood burning beneath her - she was infectious.
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Builders // Poetry
MaceraI'm gonna paint a picture with my fingertips please don't be mad if I leave a print.
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Her gold chain hanged down her neck as her lips traced the outline of jaw, she felt like a forest fire out of control and I was the wood burning beneath her - she was infectious.
