There is beauty in buried love— tenderly wrenching. The subtle and soft carry so much more power, and every touch is a stolen blessing. No moment is taken for granted; we are present. Every look: a confession to be churned over and over, while we waltz with desire never hastily. We are ravenous for a love so blatantly before us but we don’t dare to indulge. Mm-bap-bap Mm-bap-bap Mm-bap-bap So we make beauty with the withstraint and we call it discipline.