You try to quiet the thought,
but it moves through you like a slow-burning pain,
low and unrelenting,
a whisper at the base of your spine.

You close your eyes,
but I am already there—
in the warmth pooling between your thighs,
in the ache curling through your limbs,
in the breath you hold
as if surrendering to me
were not already inevitable.

You do not need my hands,
my mouth,
my weight pressing you down.

The thought of me alone
has already left you trembling,
already opened you like a prayer—
already drowned you
in the flood of me.

You don’t need my hands—
not yet.
Not when the thought of me
has already slipped between your thighs,
slow as a whisper,
hot as a secret
you don’t dare say aloud.

You shift in your seat,
cross your legs tighter,
as if that could stop me,
as if I’m not already inside you,
pressed against the ache
that only I can soothe.

I am not there,
but love—
I am.

You take me slow,
like a prayer unfolding,
like the hush before the storm.
Your mouth—
I am a temple where you kneel,
where I take your every breath,
every thought,
until I am nothing but devotion
pressed against your lips.

You pull me deeper,
draw me past the borders of myself,
until I spill into you,
until I am unmade,
a river emptied into the sea.

And when I am gone,
when you have taken all of me,
when I am nothing but tremor and breath,
I do not ask for mercy.
I do not beg for return.

I only ask to drown again,
to be swallowed whole,
to live forever in the pool of your love.

Come here, love.
Let the world freeze outside the door.
Let the night curl its cold fingers,
let the wind whisper its bitter song—
it will not reach you here.

I have fire beneath my ribs,
a slow, steady burn meant for you.
Lay your body against mine,
let your skin drink from the furnace
that only knows your name.

I will warm you—
not just your hands,
not just your breath,
but the places in you
that winter has tried to claim.

Let me thaw your soul, love.
Let me burn for you
until morning.

I have watched you stand,

even when the world tried to pull you under.

I have seen your hands,

raw from the climb,

still reaching for more.

You are not just soft skin and whispered sighs.

You are fire.

You are the storm that refuses to kneel.

You are the quiet strength that turns pain into poetry,

the light that bends but never breaks.

And I—

I am the man who walks beside you,

who watches in awe as you rise,

again and again,

undaunted,

unshaken,

unrivaled.

If they ask me who I love,

I will not speak of beauty,

or kisses stolen in the dark.

I will tell them how proud I am

to have known a woman like you.

The storm did not stop us.
Did not dampen the fire,
did not beg us to seek shelter,
did not drown the need
that pulsed beneath our skin.

Instead, we let it watch.
Let it soak us through,
let it bear witness
to the way you pushed me into the mud,
to the way I begged without shame.

Thunder cracked like applause
when you pressed inside me,
when my back arched like a prayer
too blasphemous for church.

And when it was over,
when we lay there—
panting,
bruised,
holy—

the rain washed us clean,
but not enough to forget.

Never enough to forget.

I do not need to speak your name

for it to live inside me.

It lingers on my tongue, soft as a prayer,

heavy as the weight offunsaid things.

I do not need to touch you

to feel the echo of your hands.

You are written in my skin,

a story I never finished,

a song that hums beneath my ribs.

Even in this quiet,

even when the world forgets,

even when the distance swallows the sound—

I will still love you.

Not in grand declarations,

not in reaching arms,

but in the hush of midnight,

in the space where words have failed,

in the silence that carries your name

like a secret only I will ever know.

I have crawled through the broken streets,

through the nights that would not end,

through the silence that mocked my name

like it was something unworthy of love.

I have bent beneath the weight,

felt my ribs crack under the burden,

watched the sky close its doors

when I begged for light.

But I am still here.

Not because the world was kind,

not because the road was smooth,

but because I learned to keep walking

even when my legs shook,

even when my hands bled.

The mountain did not move for me.

I climbed it anyway.

And when I reached the top,

there was no applause,

no parade,

only the quiet understanding

that I had made it—

and that was enough.

I am so happy that we were able to make this weekend happen. There’s nothing more fulfilling for my week ahead then getting to walk into it with the calm you give me. Just remember if you are ever worried about me that because of you there really is no reason to worry about me.

I love you baby!

I have nothing to offer but my hunger,

this slow-burning reverence for the way

your body trembles like scripture

waiting to be read aloud.

Let me worship you properly.

Let me part you like the sea,

follow the rivers of you

until I find the place

where your breath breaks open

into something holy.

You have carried the weight of the world.

Tonight, I will carry you.