Palm to body
a quiet fire catching,
heat learning the language of skin.
Your breath finds mine,
lips part like doors
we’ve both been aching to open.
No rush
just the slow unravel,
the pull, the almost,
until wanting
is its own kind of touch
and we burn there, together.
May 2
May 2, 2026 at 12:40 PM UTC
Palm to body
a quiet fire catching,
heat learning the language of skin.
Your breath finds mine,
lips part like doors
we’ve both been aching to open.
No rush
just the slow unravel,
the pull, the almost,
until wanting
is its own kind of touch
and we burn there, together.
