"The Art of Solitude"

Behind a door, no lock required,
A spark is lit, a soul inspired.
No partner here, no staged affair,
Just fingers dancing through the air.

The world fades out, time slows its race,
I turn within to find my place.
No need for masks, no lines rehearsed,
A quiet thirst, a private thirst.

It’s not a shame, it’s not a sin,
To love the self, to dive within.
Each moan, a hymn, each gasp, a prayer—
A chapel built from midnight air.

It teaches me I’m not alone,
Though flesh is touched by hand, not bone.
Connection deep, though none may see—
A silent rite of sovereignty.

So judge me not for what I do
When stars are bright and thoughts turn blue.
For in that act, I find release—
A moment's storm, a moment's peace.

-

“Spell Between Our Skin”
Your breath —
a sensual storm,
curling at the edge of my lips
like it’s begging to be tasted.
I don’t rush.
I let silence seduce you —
let my gaze slip beneath
the hem of your hesitation
until your moan
blooms like a secret
you never meant to say aloud.
Every kiss
is a promise I intend to break
slowly —
with the heat of my mouth
and the hush of my fingers
as they write poems
in the places
you ache to be read.
You are the altar,
and I —
the worshiper who knows
how to kneel
with reverence
and ruin.
Lust hangs heavy in the air,
ripe, electric —
and still,
there’s something softer here:
something intimate
in the way you say my name
like a whisper meant only
for the dark.
This is no act.
This is art.
Erotic, yes —
but holy, too.
Because the way we touch
feels like prayer
spoken
in the language of skin.

-

“How You Open”

You open —
not like a book,
but like a wound that wants
to be kissed
instead of healed.

My fingers,
cartographers of heat,
trace the borders
of your hunger,
mapping the tremble
in your thighs
with reverence and ruin.

Your breath stutters —
each gasp
a syllable of surrender,
your spine speaking
in the language of arch and ache.

Inside you,
I lose rhythm,
then find religion
in the way you say my name
like it’s too full to hold
in just one mouthful.

You ride me
like the night rides lightning —
wild, electric,
unafraid to burn.

There’s no poetry purer
than the way we come —
together,
shaking truth loose
from our bones.

-

"Orbit of Desire"

Your lips —
a crimson whisper,
where hunger writes its secret psalms
in the curve of a bitten breath.

They part,
not just for words
but for the storm beneath silence —
an invitation,
a kiss that leaves
its echo on skin.

Lower,
my gaze descends
to that sacred hollow,
your navel —
a soft, trembling galaxy
pulling my fingers into orbit.

I trace its rim
like a prayer said backwards,
tongue spelling verses
in a language made of moans.

Between your lips and your navel,
desire walks barefoot,
burning the space between
with every aching glance.

-

"Bruise Me Into Yours"

Don’t come soft.
Come like a storm,
teeth bared, voice rough,
hands that ask no permission—
only take.

I don't want roses or lullabies.
I want the sound of buttons torn,
your name bitten into my shoulder,
the thud of want
when it’s too much to hold.

Pin me with your hunger,
not just body—
but mind, voice, the ache
you never say aloud.

Kiss me like you’re furious
I ever belonged to someone else.
Mark me like a war you’ve won.

Break me open—
not to hurt me,
but to make space
for how hard you love.

No sighs here, only gasps.
No gentleness, only the sacred violence
of surrender
to something bigger than both of us.

And when you leave,
don’t promise forever—
Just come back
when you’re starving again.

-

"The Edge of Fire"

Your hands — not gentle, but claiming,
pull me into the dark,
where breath is a weapon,
and silence breaks like glass.

Flesh pressed to flesh,
not for comfort—
but for the chaos
we’ve both begged to taste.

Teeth graze, fingers bruise,
and the air itself splits
with the sound of surrender
as I arch beneath your storm.

You speak in growls,
language ancient and primal,
and I answer—
not with words, but with everything else.

We don’t make love.
We unmake it.
Strip it down,
until there’s only need—
and fire,
and the ruinous truth of bodies
that cannot lie.

-

"Beneath the Velvet Ruin"

In midnight’s hush, I hear your name,
A whisper wrapped in smoke and flame.
Your touch, a ghost upon my skin,
A wound that aches to bleed within.

You loved me like a falling star—
Beautiful, doomed, and much too far.
Each kiss, a curse in sweet disguise,
A dagger pressed 'tween lust and lies.

I drank the poison of your gaze,
A willing soul, lost in the blaze.
And though your heart was cold and black,
I begged for you to not turn back.

For love like ours is born to die,
Yet still, I crave your cruel goodbye.
I'd rather burn than never feel—
Your love, unholy and unreal.

So haunt me, love, with your decay,
In dreams where light will lose its way.
I'll be your grave, your final breath—
A vow that dances close to death.

-

“The First Unveiling”

The door clicks shut—the world fades slow,
Two hearts unsure, yet set to glow.
A glance, a pause, a held-in breath,
We step through fire, we flirt with depth.

You stood in silence, silk and skin,
A trembling storm I’d gladly sin.
The moonlight touched you like a vow,
And I, a pilgrim, kissed your brow.

Fingers tracing—soft, unsure—
The start of something raw and pure.
The way you gasped, then pulled me near,
Erased the last of doubt and fear.

Each button slipped was like a spell,
Each sigh a story we would tell.
The sheets, now rumpled, warm, and wild,
Cradled the fire we’d reconciled.

Your legs entwined, your breath on mine,
Time slowed and melted into wine.
We moved like oceans pulled by stars,
No boundaries left, no closing scars.

That night, you gave me all of you—
Not just the body, but what's true.
And in that dark, the world turned right—
We made forever in one night.

-