I ache for the curve of your lips,
the secret valleys where your whispers rest,
the gentle storm of your breath
against the quiet hunger of my own.
In the trembling air, I find
the ghost of your fingers weaving through mine,
their warmth a fragile truth
that lingers in the hollows of my palm.
Your body, now drifts
like a dream behind a veil.
I long to cross the distance,
to find your skin beneath the moonlight,
to trace constellations of us
once more into the quiet rhythms of night.
Oh, let me fall into you again,
into the world we made
in stolen hours and hushed embraces.
Let my lips find yours
as if the universe depends on their meeting,
and as if time itself stops to listen
to the story only we can tell.
Nov 20, 2024
Nov 20, 2024 at 4:14 PM UTC
I ache for the curve of your lips,
the secret valleys where your whispers rest,
the gentle storm of your breath
against the quiet hunger of my own.
In the trembling air, I find
the ghost of your fingers weaving through mine,
their warmth a fragile truth
that lingers in the hollows of my palm.
Your body, now drifts
like a dream behind a veil.
I long to cross the distance,
to find your skin beneath the moonlight,
to trace constellations of us
once more into the quiet rhythms of night.
Oh, let me fall into you again,
into the world we made
in stolen hours and hushed embraces.
Let my lips find yours
as if the universe depends on their meeting,
and as if time itself stops to listen
to the story only we can tell.