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I was pressed beneath pure, white sheets

And all I could hear was his heart beating.

His hands were feeling up my thighs,

While I stared back into his pitch, black eyes.

His lips were finally touching mine,

And we were about to commit the sweetest crime.

My body went spiraling into a high,

As I dug my nails in close to his spine.

I bit onto his bottom lip,

And around my waist his hands were gripped.

I looked at the wine glasses on the floor,

He only touched me; I am still pure.

But he doesn’t want them my face to see,

But I am a butterfly and I should be free.

Just because you’ve touched my skin,

Does not mean that you own my wings.

My name he refuses to speak near them,

And refers to me as his nameless friend.

Beautiful minds might be my weakness,

But still I will remain his dirty little secret. 

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