Whispers of flesh
In the quiet hum of midnight, Two shadows converge, A dance older than words, A rhythm carved in pulse and breath. Fingers trace the edges of yearning, Mapping the contours of vulnerability, A language without letters, Spoken in sighs and shivers. The world outside dissolves, Time bends and folds Around the heat of proximity, The tender clash of bodies seeking truth. Eyes meet like open doors, Inviting secrets, The trust of skin pressed to skin, A covenant beyond promise. Breath mingles, shallow and deep, A tide of anticipation rising, Each touch a question, Each tremor an answer. Pleasure blooms like a hidden garden, Fragrant and secret, Where every caress is both compass and map, Leading to the heart’s quiet altar. Not all passion is fire; Some is the steady pulse Of lips tracing love’s ancient script, The comfort of a hand held in the dark. In this union, there is both surrender and claim, A sacred geometry of closeness, Where two become mirrors of desire, And the body speaks t...