It begins
not with words,
but with a glance
that lingers too long.

Your breath
becomes the rhythm
I never meant to follow,
but now cannot escape.

Hands speak
what voices silence-
a language of fire,
of longing,
of surrender.

There is no map
for this kind of closeness.
We move by instinct,
by need,
by something older than reason.

In your presence,
time stutters,
the world forgets itself.
And I,
forget how to be anything
but yours.

This is not love's whisper-
this is its roar.
Unwritten,
unrestrained,
undeniably alive.