Dissolve

Two Bodies Learning the Taste of Silence

I wrote this poem a few months ago and kept coming back to it. I wasn’t sure whether to smooth it out or just leave it as it was. It felt complete and incomplete at the same time. At some point, I stopped trying to make it perfect and just let it sit.

When I picked it up again today, I realized desire isn’t meant to be tidy. Most of what I write tries to please the eye and senses and settle into a shape that feels complete. But this one kept resisting that. It wanted air and honesty instead of polish, so that’s what I gave it.

Lately, I’ve been thinking about the way desire moves when we stop trying to define it. It isn’t polite or careful. It asks us to awaken in our own skin. Desire waits in the small, ordinary moments and reminds us that the body is a wild kind of language. Sometimes it speaks softly, other times it gives a raw, guttural roar. Either way, it never lies.

What I care about now isn’t the performance of heat but the steady quiet underneath it. In those moments when everything slows down and feels both calm and alive. There’s no showing off left to put on, just absolute presence.

If fantasy means less to you than the courage it takes to stay open, then stay here with me. Read this slowly. Let me know where you felt this.

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Dissolve

two bodies
weaving silence
between gasps—

learning the curve
of every inch,
the weight,
the warmth
of skin.

words dissolve
into the soft ache of touch,
a language written
in shivers,
in sighs,
in wet, hungry breath.

in the pause
where heartbeats race
and tremble,
fingertips trace secrets,
mapping desire
across heated flesh. 

and in that fragile,
blazing moment,
we surrender
to the pull of now,

unfolding what it means
to lose ourselves—

completely found,
entwined
in want,
in breath,
in fire.

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If this stirred something deep inside you, let your desire show. Your likes, restacks, and comments are my favorite kind of foreplay.