Fingers trace fire,
a whisper against trembling skin,
desires rising, unraveling,
spilling secrets in the hush of night.

A surge, a gasp—
breath caught between need and knowing,
pleasure flooding, aching,
a worship of motion, of surrender.

A gush, a pulse, a cry—
still, I wonder,
what magic is this,
that sets me free and binds me whole?