when I was with the beardy redhead
One two three four. Two two three four. Three two three four.
Your heart doesn’t skip a beat.
Your stomach is smooth and soft, thick with whatever food we ate for dinner. Sad I already forgot what it was. It’s not important.
I’ve felt the hair leading down down down hundreds of times before, but my hands never grow tired of it. It matches your bushy eyebrows, and not the fire on your head, or in your pants.
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