340.

Sometimes, in the midst
of passion, I imagine
you shaping my soul.

339.

Love, so often, feels
like neglect when memory
is left to decay.

338.

How impervious
we are to inflicting pain
always amazes.

337.

The hollow ache of
knowing you will feel
like I do, echoes.

336.

It feels like nothing
could ever matter unless
it came between us.

335.

A day etched out in
memory for what freedom
usually costs.

334.

Whenever we're not
together, the world is stopped.
Stasis when apart.

333.

His attention made
me the bloom, only growing
under his regard.

332.

The clouds take on the
characteristics of its
viewer's moodiness.

331.

Her body is a
study in texture, dappled
beneath that tree's reach.

330.

He spun me like a
top, around and around from
his arm's carousel.

329.

The gulf between me
and normalcy could leave us
all different species.

328.

Draconian etched
choices, recused of any
personal decisions.

327.

The idea of love you're
selling is positively
medieval designed.