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To the man who once whispered my name like a secret between the sheets... I miss you.
I miss the way your skin felt against mine — pale like moonlight on dark velvet.
I miss how your hands trembled the first time they explored the curves of my chest,
like they were reading Braille carved into obsidian.
You told me you’d never been with a Black man before.
And baby, I showed you how deep the night could feel. 🍫
How thunder doesn’t just crash — it rumbles inside you.
You used to trace your fingers down my spine like it was a map to somewhere sacred.
And you found it. Every time.
The scent of your shampoo still lingers in my pillows. Your bite marks faded,
but not the memories. Not the way you moaned when I pulled you close
and told you you’re mine.
I don’t know if you still think of me —
but just know this:
A king with skin carved from mahogany and honey is still dreaming of the nights we melted into one.
Still aching for the way your soul felt pressed into mine.
I loved you.
And a love like mine doesn’t fade. It burns.
Slow. Hot. Eternal.
– Malik J. Washington
🖤🍫🏳️🌈