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worth a letter of love


There is nothing I would rather do, my speckled truffle dear, than write of the love I have for you. But when words, neither written nor spoken, mean nothing to you, then I am hapless, at a loss;
I must salivate in silence. I only pray that you allow the warmth of my fingers, in all earnestness, to soften you. It is better that way. And that you be not alarmed by my quivering, which is only in anticipation of your proximity to my mouth. Embrace it, oh sweet one, for it is the resonance of your wonder. And are you not able to then I might just whimper, perhaps die for you. But as
it stands, there you are, seated in foil, delicately wrapped, and about to become mine. My lips are waiting, my speckled truffle dear. You and your honey-ginger heart are about
to meet with me for tea.

Find out more about this Hello Sunday tale.

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