You haunt my veins like a cold, black star,
dragging every buried impulse
into the crush of your gravity.
Your mark burns beneath my ribs,
a fever that rewrote my pulse
the moment you stepped into my night.
Come to me in the violet hush,
velvet falling from naked shoulders,
your silhouette rising like a myth reborn.
I want the visceral shock of your skin,
heat gathering so fast and sharp
the shadows lean in to witness.
Let the candles tremble as you straddle the space,
the heavy, rhythmic grind of your hips
turning the sacred quiet into a gasp.
Your friction strikes through bone,
slick and possessive in the candlelight,
a dark liturgy of sweat and bared teeth.
I am buried deep in the wreck of you,
feeling the clench and the velvet pull
spoken in the space between heartbeats.
If I break, let it be in your hands—
falling into the wet, into the pull,
into the truth only the weight of you
has ever been able to name.