Karups
Karups Pic(s)
The fading sun cast long, golden shadows across the room, painting your skin in hues of warmth and anticipation. My fingers found yours, not with urgency, but with a slow, deliberate grace that spoke of infinite patience. A single touch on your inner wrist sent a visible shiver through you, a silent language only our bodies understood. I watched the delicate flutter of your eyelids close as I traced the line of your jaw, feeling the soft sigh escape your lips. The air grew thick with the scent of your perfume and the unspoken words hanging between us. Every brush of my knuckles against your collarbone was a question, and the arch of your back was its eloquent, breathless answer. The world outside our quiet space ceased to exist, narrowed down to this single point of contact. I could feel the frantic rhythm of your heart answering the steady, deep cadence of my own. In that hushed twilight, we were not two people, but a single, resonating chord of shared feeling. This was our secret conversation, written not with ink, but with the tender, exploring language of touch.
Comments
Post a Comment