by Savon

As the moon recognizes the passing hand of the sun,

 I saw you pass and recognize you as my one. 

The one. 

Meaning more than half the day spent memorizing the nape of your neck, tonguing down trails back up to your vocal chords that murmur “don’t stop, don’t stop”. 

We fit you are my one, my perfect one.

 My single most wanted.

Hips, ass and toes, lips, ears and nose to be exposed on top of this face of smiling  beard  that dislikes the taste of tens and only has appetite for the life of my one.

 You’re my one, my one please be my only one.

-from the American sitcom Girlfriends