#softtouch - Hello Poetry

Your hand moved like silence on my shoulder— not asking, not waiting. The sheet slid down just enough to forget its name. Your breath settled between my ribs and the window. We didn’t speak. The night had already been told. The fan spun above bare skin and promises no one made. You traced a path below my navel— a sentence you never said aloud but I remembered for days. Later, you left without shoes. Your steps soft as permission. I lay there, the sky warming, your warmth still turning in the folds. - THE END - © 2025 June, Hasanur Rahman Shaikh. All rights reserved.

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Jun 4, 2025

Jun 4, 2025 at 7:32 PM UTC

khaali_qalam

Traced in Silence

Your hand moved like silence on my shoulder— not asking, not waiting. The sheet slid down just enough to forget its name. Your breath settled between my ribs and the window. We didn’t speak. The night had already been told. The fan spun above bare skin and promises no one made. You traced a path below my navel— a sentence you never said aloud but I remembered for days. Later, you left without shoes. Your steps soft as permission. I lay there, the sky warming, your warmth still turning in the folds. - THE END - © 2025 June, Hasanur Rahman Shaikh. All rights reserved.

41

I told myself I wouldn’t fall this time, kept my heart folded like a note I’d never send. But then you happened, quietly, like a feeling that doesn’t ask permission. Now I notice everything. The way your eyes hold conversations mine aren’t ready for, like they already know what I’m still trying to hide. The way your hand exists and suddenly mine feels empty without ever having held it. It’s not loud, not the kind of want that burns the world down, it’s softer than that. It’s in the pauses, in the way I reread your messages, in the space your name takes up in my thoughts. I tried to stay untouched, unmoved, uninterested, but here I am, learning the shape of you without even trying. These aren’t wild desires, not reckless, not rushed just soft cravings, the kind that grow quietly and refuse to leave.

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Apr 28

Apr 28, 2026 at 8:27 AM UTC

HDMZIBULA

Soft Cravings

I told myself I wouldn’t fall this time, kept my heart folded like a note I’d never send. But then you happened, quietly, like a feeling that doesn’t ask permission. Now I notice everything. The way your eyes hold conversations mine aren’t ready for, like they already know what I’m still trying to hide. The way your hand exists and suddenly mine feels empty without ever having held it. It’s not loud, not the kind of want that burns the world down, it’s softer than that. It’s in the pauses, in the way I reread your messages, in the space your name takes up in my thoughts. I tried to stay untouched, unmoved, uninterested, but here I am, learning the shape of you without even trying. These aren’t wild desires, not reckless, not rushed just soft cravings, the kind that grow quietly and refuse to leave.

33

it was brief, too brief for something that would stay this long. a greeting, a moment dressed as something ordinary, your name meeting mine like it had been waiting somewhere before us, but it was your hand, your hand that changed the light when our palms met the world didn’t stop, no, it softened… like everything harsh suddenly remembered how to be gentle, and you, you became clearer as if my eyes had been closed until that exact second not just beautiful no, that would be too easy a word you were something warmer, something that didn’t ask to be seen yet demanded to be felt. the way you stood, half turned, half smiling, like you knew something the rest of the world hadn’t caught up to yet and i’ve been thinking how something so small could leave something so permanent, how a hand could hold more than touch, because now every memory of you begins there. in that quiet spark between skin and skin, and i wonder if you felt it too, or if i’m the only one still holding onto a moment that never let go of me.

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Apr 26

Apr 26, 2026 at 4:53 AM UTC

HDMZIBULA

The language of your hands by HDM ZIBULA

it was brief, too brief for something that would stay this long. a greeting, a moment dressed as something ordinary, your name meeting mine like it had been waiting somewhere before us, but it was your hand, your hand that changed the light when our palms met the world didn’t stop, no, it softened… like everything harsh suddenly remembered how to be gentle, and you, you became clearer as if my eyes had been closed until that exact second not just beautiful no, that would be too easy a word you were something warmer, something that didn’t ask to be seen yet demanded to be felt. the way you stood, half turned, half smiling, like you knew something the rest of the world hadn’t caught up to yet and i’ve been thinking how something so small could leave something so permanent, how a hand could hold more than touch, because now every memory of you begins there. in that quiet spark between skin and skin, and i wonder if you felt it too, or if i’m the only one still holding onto a moment that never let go of me.

41