He loves me

He loves me, he loves me not, he loves me, he loves me not, he loves me. The words come to my brain like a beautiful love song I can’t ignore. All of my insecurities fade while we are side by side because I know I will be taken as I am. Beautiful, broken, and vulnerable. My heart starts to pound as I put myself into a sensual, sexual, lustful state of mind. I picture being loved, caressed, and given deep strokes until my toes are curled and my legs are quivering. I can never ignore that face, the one that tells me everything will be ok. Is this love, lust, or infatuation? My thoughts make me weak in my knees just as I always begin to think.... he loves me, he loves me not, he loves me, he loves me not, he loves me. 

This poem is about: 
Me

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