Your breath
finds the hollow of my neck
like a secret returning home.
The room softens
walls becoming dusk,
time loosening its grip
as your hands learn
the grammar of my skin.
Every slow touch
is a vow in a language
we only speak
with the lights low,
the world forgotten,
and desire warm
as a whispered spell
between our mouths.
© 2025









beautiful lovely poetess so many great lines that intrigue ❤️
Thank you, Crimsin… I’m glad the lines drew you in.
Beautifully penned, CG. Excellent write my friend. Appreciate you.
Damian
Thank you, Damian… that means a lot. I’m glad the piece landed gently for you.
Chère G.,
wow!!!
And you have a special knack for adding just the right art work!
Warm regards, and warmer since reading your poem, Gus
Thank you, Gus… the artwork always comes after the poem. Whatever image feels like it rises from the words. I’m glad this one felt right to you.