I wake at night,
skin damp,
your language still moving
where I left it,
not spoken,
but felt.
The heat of you
doesn’t touch,
it settles slow
until I forget
where I end.
You take my mind
without asking,
guide my hand
like it already knows
the shape of you.
Stay there.
Don’t rush.
Trace the places
that answer
before I do,
where breath falters,
meaning slips.
Lean in,
closer than words,
past the edge
of what I can hold.
Feel it,
that pull
low and rising,
unraveling restraint
thread by thread.
Don’t stop.
Leave me there,
undone,
quietly shaking,
caught between
want
and surrender,
until you press
through my thoughts again,
not loud,
not sudden,
but deep enough
that I still feel it
even after
the page
should have gone still.
