Writer: Alex Greenspoon
Editors: Ashley Yeung and Alloe Mak

Our love is erotic.
I can feel my skin clanking against my bones as my arms are tied behind my back,
held together by yours.
Eroticism in its simplicity is spontaneity with little to no complexity.
A complexity that envelopes my mind in the memories,
guards it with the replays of my daydreams now turned into our reality.
Our eroticism is displayed through your voices that array themselves in a calming yet thrilling manner.
A manner that exceeds all expectations as the feeling of your skin against mine is one that cannot be mimicked.
Your skin against mine does not mean it must be venereal.
It’s falling asleep with your leg over mine and waking up with my chest pressed against your back.

Hold my hand.
Ponder our futures yet consider our presents.
I love you the way a priest loves his bible.
The way a rabbi cherishes his tallit.
A devotion with a million motions to discover and uncover.
I’ll write my rambles about you until you know that it’s true:
My love for you exceeds a universal expectation of holding water in your hands;
It slowly slips through the gaps between your fingers, no matter how big or small.
I won’t let that happen to you,
with us,
Even with conceited gusts of dust that may get caught in my tear ducts,
I’d devote the rest of my sight to staring at you.
Our love is erotic with a grasp on carnal feelings and perceptive ardency.
Our love is erotic when I’m resting on your lap or when my hair falls through your fingers.
Our love is erotic when I wake up next to you or miles apart.
A distance doesn’t imply eviction.
I can rearrange these words if you need more conviction.