I ache for the weight of his hands,
his gentle conquest, my weary surrender.
The clasp undone, a silent unlocking,
and I, frail as dusk, lean into him,
his chest a steadfast haven of warmth.
Fingers trace the curve of my shoulders,
slipping straps cascade like autumn leaves,
an ending, a beginning, all at once.
His palms cradle me as if I am fragile,
a vessel brimming with quiet holiness.
Each slow circle of his thumbs awakens,
the soft rise, the quiet swell,
and I sigh, drawn beyond fatigue,
into the calm of his knowing touch.
His breath spills against my cheek,
words melting into my hair, unheard
but understood in the trembling silence:
"You are mine; I'll not let go."
The hush deepens; the world recedes.
Our bodies thread with unseen bonds.
I live only in the space of this,
the boundless gift of being undone.