Between Sunset and Ember

If lovemaking had a color,
it would be the shade between sunset and ember–
and you are that living hue.

The air around you ignites,
as if the last of daylight lingers reluctantly.

Your skin collects the sun’s final sigh,
rising into me like a softly glowing ember pressed to my chest.

When I draw near,
I feel that color ripple from you,
like warmth rising off rain-drenched earth.

You move as light bends through smoke
slow, deliberate, alive with hidden sparks that trail along my skin.

Your smile holds the heart of flame,
a flicker of ember weaving between my heartbeat and your breath.

There is cedar in your scent,
and the faint salt of the evening wind brushing against me.

Your voice is dusk made audible–
low, deep, and warm,
each word a gentle stroke along the skin of the air that lingers around me.

When you speak my name,
the color deepens,
as though the sky itself leans closer to listen.

My heart relearns its rhythm
in the glow of your presence–
the way light gives without burning,
the way it lingers when everything else fades.

Beneath my fingers, your warmth endures like sunlight held in memory,
and when our foreheads meet,
I feel that incandescent shade pulse between us,
as if our breaths had drawn the horizon nearer.

You are the place where gold melts into crimson,
the living fire we cradle when the day is done,
and the sparks refuse to fade.

Even as the stars awaken,
you remain luminous beside me,
in your arms, wrapped in the afterglow of your hue,
where every whisper leaves a trace of light.