You taste like late night obsessions and whiskey dreams

A simple call for my name from him and I’m instantly objectified. I come running like hachi, forever succumbing to the dedication of being his loyal pet. 

I know I serve him well and I am there when he needs the ambiance of another connected human being. Even though I feel his energy is so much higher and lighter than mine, I still feel like I deserve his possession. 

How ego driven is that?

That I want to be consumed in all my entirety by his spirit? How I want him to eat me piece by piece eternally feeding his famishment of sexual desire, love, happiness, temptation, and all the other necessities that please and fulfill a human’s wants and needs?

I just couldn’t wrap my head around it. 

How can he not see that I was and always will be ready for him? 

I was ready for all of the tiny specs of imperfections hidden deep beneath his earthly, physical vessel. It only made sense that despite these flaws, it was the infinite voyages, the tales, the heart melting smiles, the daunting charm, the pop-punkish appearance, the enticing sex appeal and boyish nature, that coalesced wholly into what comprised handsome, quirky guys like him.

Only he wasn’t like every other specifically descripted guy; he was incomparable. 

And he had to be mine, again. 

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