In the hush between heartbeats,
he folds over her like a prayer made flesh
bare skin against bare skin,
the floor their only altar.
Her body yields beneath him,
spine arched in surrender,
fingers laced with his as if
they are the last two souls left
who still know how to burn.
No sheets. No soft lies.
Just the raw, trembling truth
of a man who would rather
drown in her mouth
than ever come up for air.
The arch of his back is a question, and her answer is everything
This is the beautiful violence
of two bodies
remembering they were never meant
to be separate.