to woo the willow, you must know the veins
a slow breath of silk against the skin
silencing the weeder, the clock, the rains
where the ghost of a touch begins
a fingertip tracing the curve of a sigh
the weight of a secret, half-spoken and deep.
the low, humming hunger of a midnight sky
while the rest of the waking world falls to sleep.
a slide of warm velvet, a shudder of gold
the scent of crushed jasmine and rain-heavy air
the story of us, in a language untold,
a slow-burning ember, a desperate prayer
your pulse is a rhythm, my heart is the drum
a collision of shadows, a sudden, soft flare
to the edge of the silence we both succumb
stripped of the armor, laid breathless and bare
