“And who am I to tell you what you desire? My wife you may be,
but you want what you want and I would be foolish to always let
my pride swell up until I am blind to your autonomy. Lesser men
do this and with this swelling they suffocate themselves and what
little love they do have. I would never suppose to assume what
you want. Tell me, Psyche, tell me and let my heart take flight
to hear your words spoken!”
It is the modern age, when men do not speak like drowsy, wine-
drowned poets, and yet for her he seems unable to do anything
but sing her praises as if this were still another century.
Some would find this adoration strange, too much to behold and
something worth turning away from. Others were mad for it, had
one glance and coveted this love so much that their own hearts
filled and filled and filled until they might burst with want.
“Tell me,” he murmurs against her ear. “What shall I do for you?”
“Must I know that my heart beats to feel that it does? You are
a part of me, You know me sometimes better than I know myself.
But then again, you were always so sweet and considerate--I can
never imagine a world where your sweet words cease to exist.”
Her love, the one that she could never live without. As she pressed her forehead
against his, her fingers intwining with his. This was right. This was what she desired.
To be in his embrace, for her name to leave his lips like a song, to have his smile
against her skin. This was all that she desired. He will be all she desires.
“Whisper to me sweet nothings that inspire the muses to write new songs.
Make me feel young and in love. Like the first time we embraced, Let me feel
the adoration that I hear leave your lips. Remind me that this is real that you
love me with every fiber of your being.”
kianamaiart
izzy806
germansingergirl
