Why?

Why are we the way we are? And when I say we I mean women.

As soft as butterfly wings are his kisses, as sharp as neddles too.
Yet, knowing their sharpness I take them.

As light and void of substance are his words, and as empty as a black hole.
Yet, knowing their emptiness I swallow them.

As cool as ocean water is his mouth, as briny as it too.
Yet, knowing its pungency I quench my thirst in it.

His touch burns me, scaring my skin, searing my heart and soul.
Yet, knowing its heat, I hold him against me.

Why are we the way we are?

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