Marks

Tonight,
I will paint
my name
on your flesh
with the firm language
of an open palm.

Every stroke,
a careful confession—
each strike a secret
pressed into skin,
slowly blooming
into tender shades
of surrender.

I’ll mark you
with deliberate care,
the sting a promise,
the heat a memory
written in the quiet blush
of your curves.

You’ll tremble
beneath my touch,
each slap echoing
the silent trust between us,
your body speaking
what your lips
cannot say.

And when
at last I stop,
you’ll wear
these sweet marks
like hidden poetry,
a whispered reminder
of pleasure,
of belonging,
of the beautiful ache
we share
in darkness.