DRABBLE: "Don't" Don't move. It's taken too long to find our way into one another's arms, to join souls along with flesh, to mingle sweat and seed. We must make this last. Don't talk. I know your mind already; nothing you could say now could disclose more than I learn by tasting your sweet breath. I hear your heart whispering. Don't leave. I have nothing to offer but the days left -- short days when counted against the promise of your illimitable years. This, somehow, must be enough. If you ever start to believe I love another more than I do you . . . Don't. the end
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