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The daisy

A sweet summer dream...
“He loves me, he loves me not, he loves me, he loves me not…”
She smiles secretly, playing the game of childhood years,
Petals of the daisy falling to the ground.
The evening air still warm
As she waits for him,
He who makes her heart race,
Her breath tremble and core moisten.

“He loves me, he loves me not, he loves me, he loves me not…”
She has loved and lost,
But he makes her heart sing again,
His warmth, kindness and caring nature
Paired with heat, passion and desire for her,
Making a very ordinary girl
Feel extraordinary.

“He loves me, he loves me not, he loves me, he loves me not….”
Her cheeks flush as she thinks of his touch,
The way his hands can wake every nerve
Make her achingly needy,
Crave his soft lips on her naked flesh,
His gentle, yet firm hands
And his hardness pushes into her.

“He loves me, he loves me not, he love me, he loves me not….”
A breeze ruffles her hair and cools her flushed cheeks.
Sighing softly, she wishes she could find a way
To know his true feelings.
Looking up, she sees him walk to her
And with a smile, he pulls off the last petal of the daisy,
Whispering “He loves you”.

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