My you.

 I taste you

and realize I have been starving all my life.

Your touch ignites a hunger—

a yearning buried deep, dormant,

hidden beneath layers of quiet longing.

The salt of your skin lingers on my tongue,

an ocean tide pulling me under.

Your breath, a whisper,

brushes my neck like soft velvet,

setting my pulse to a rhythm only you can play.

I trace the curve of your spine

as if reading scripture,

holy and forbidden,

my fingertips trembling,

a pilgrim at the altar of you.

Every sigh you release

fills the hollow places inside me,

flooding deserts with rivers of fire.

I taste you,

and the world blurs,

shrinks to the warmth of your body,

the echo of your name on my lips.

How is it

that I have lived this long

without knowing the ache of wanting,

the sweetness of surrender,

the sharp edges of bliss

that cut and heal in the same breath?

You consume me.

I am lost in you,

starving no more,

yet endlessly ravenous,

my soul burning

in the flame of your presence.