To Be An Animal

I do not make love to women, but I love to look at them.

They are so stunning.

I understand why men are animals.

It is only human nature to want to devour something so beautiful.

Every freckle on your skin is screaming at his body.

He cannot look at your collarbone without wanting to feed on your neck.

It is the little bits of skin peeking out of your top that leave him in a daydream, wondering who you are beneath the layers.

He never called you after annihilating your flesh.

He can’t see the aching of your heart, the one that sits underneath your chest that he so ravingly consumed.

But can you blame him for wanting a taste?


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