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I miss you Berlin. I miss each hot, sweet sip of your fresh liberation. I miss the sweat of the U-bahn pulling into the platform. I miss the effortless sex appeal of loose clothes, the glimpse of a tattoo just above your elbow. The way you make my spine tingle; my juices rush. I miss your breath on my back and your arms round my waist. I miss the nights seeped in your lustful hedonism. I miss the eyes of the people whose hearts beat in time with yours. I miss the freedom of being a cell caught in your rich, heady blood, thick with pleasure, engorged with other cellular misfits like me. Together we become your tight lungs, your wet skin, the saliva of your soul. You are addictive and now I’ve had you, I lie awake thinking of my next hit as I ache for you, groan for you and cry for you. Berlin.

Gowri. 24. Doctor by profession. Poet & Writer by passion.

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