Elysian Ecstacy

If love is a drug,
you are the high
that keeps my blood
pumping through its veins.
An elysian ecstasy
made of decadent dreams,
succulent kisses,
a feast for my senses.
When we connect,
mountains shake and walls
crumble to the ground
with a single touch.

—-
Written for Day 28 of #MayFalls and #MayPoeticWings poetry challenge.

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