Karups
Karups Pic(s)
The moon was a pale wafer pressed against the velvet throat of the night as he read to her, his voice a low hum that vibrated not in the air, but deep within her bones. Each syllable was a delicate touch, a phantom caress that traced the line of her collarbone and settled in the hollow of her throat. She felt her breath catch, a tiny, suspended thing as his words painted scenes of longing in the dim light. His gaze, heavy-lidded and dark, held hers as a single word—'yearning'—seemed to bloom like heat against her skin. A slow, languid warmth uncoiled in her stomach, spreading through her limbs with a delicious, heavy weight. The space between them on the sofa became an ache, a tangible silence begging to be crossed. Her fingers trembled slightly as she reached for her glass of water, the cool liquid doing nothing to quench the fire his poetry had ignited. He watched the path of the droplet tracing her lower lip, his own lips parting in a silent, shared breath. In that suspended moment, language itself became the most intimate of lovers, its meaning felt not in the mind, but along every awakened nerve. The world narrowed to the cadence of his voice and the frantic, answering drum of her own heart.
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