I am addicted to her inner galaxy.

I want nothing more than to float in her milky way,

Picking planets like peaches and tasting her.

She told me it was alright to engulf her beautiful reality in mine.

To inject her thoughts into my self conciousness so that all I can think of is her. 

So that the only thing my fingertips would crave is her being.

She weaved me wings blanketed in possibilities,

and asked if tasting me while I was so high would be appropriate.

I answered in kisses so deep that her soul fell in love with mine. 

I kissed beaded love down her spine, and 

Together we made soaked sheet notes of beautiful music.

Dampened, poetic crescendos.

I kissed her deep enough to drain an ocean and fill it with this poem.

This moment. Her legs are open, bent, angled as if praying to Allah that this was it.

I was it.

I was hers.