who else

But when you kiss me and the world stops and I wonder why you stop and I think I’m being greedy but who else am I supposed to be greedy for; who am I supposed to constantly want if not the lips I wake up to and fall asleep to and dream to and sing to and wish for? If not yours, and only yours; if not the one who is supposed to supposedly rescue me from wanting anything else from anyone else’s hands and soul but your own.

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