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I lay under the dim stars,
Thinking about him and me,
About our chemistry,
Our sexual tensions,
Our intellect,
How we are in-sync,
Yet somehow, I feel that,
I am Uncertain.

I lay on my bed,
Thinking about his lust for me,
About our late night calls,
In heated passion.
Our role-playing,
And he claiming me as his woman,
In silk lace. Yet,
I am Uncertain.

I lay with a book in my had,
Thinking about how his words move me.
How the ink connects me,
To his Magi, and how it is easy,
To be with him,
To fall in love with him,
To walk down the aisle toward him. Yet,
I am Uncertain.

I lay, somehow agitated and annoyed.
At myself, at my cold, blackened heart,
Which refuses to feel again.
Third time’s a charm they say.
What if I am cursed? What if he doesn’t love me,
Like I have started to love him?
Should I take the plunge into the unknown?
I am Uncertain.

He has had women in his bed.
He claims none give him orgasms like me.
What if he lies? What if I am just a whore for him?
A plaything to be discarded and used when he pleases.
He is intrigued by me.
What if there are others that still intrigue him?
Will he ever ask me to be his wife, like I want him as my husband?
I am Uncertain


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