Fresh silk, ivory-serene,
floats down in careful ripples,
caressing our skin.
Crisp air, salt, sea,
we inhale as one,
letting its clean sting
empty and remake us.
Fingertips touch,
one by one,
counting beats
into a tiny melody.
Becoming one hush
beneath this breeze of white,
we whisper in butterfly kisses,
telling entire stories
without a single word,
breath tangled in lace.
Our noses kiss first.
The rest unfolds
into a beautiful daylight dream,
limbs entwined,
a glorious, honeyed ruin.
As afternoon loosens around us,
time, an old friend,
forgets to trouble us.
Your eyes never leave mine,
hungry, luminous,
drinking in every detail of me
as though your gaze alone
could keep me here.
Everything is touch,
a language of drift and murmur,
of petal-soft sighs,
of skin answering skin
in the hush between breaths.
We languor into one another,
speaking a language
words never could.