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Like cinnamon, hot and exotic.
So sweet, like earth, warm, deep
and dark - I could make you my home
like a meerkat in the Kalahari desert
burrows underground;
The scent of skin on skin,
And sure of yourself like a jaguar
hunting its pray in the dead of night.
Comforting as hot chocolate covered
in cream; Solitary like a long lost diary kept in an attic
somewhere. Cocky, face towards the stars,
yet grounded, feet firmly placed on concrete
while mine float freely above. The string
of my balloon. The anchor which keeps my head
level. Proud like a stag; A tower; and the ink
of a typewriter which spreads your story
across a blank page.