Come here.

Closer.

Closer still,
until your breath frays against mine
like something breaking.

Don’t speak.
Let me taste your faith.
Salt.
Fear.
That thin, holy tremble
right before surrender.

Let me feel your heart
kick against my palm,
frenzied, stupid, animal,
throwing itself against bone
like it might escape.

It won’t.
Nothing ever does.

Feel it.
How it slams into my hand.
How it stutters
when my fingers curl tighter.
Your body knows me.
Even when you don’t.

Every beat
another confession.
Another door unlocking.

You can try to pull away.
Go on.
Watch as your pulse only climbs higher.
Watch how your ribs shake
like prey realizing
the trap already closed.

I don’t have to hold you.
You’re already here.
Already open.
Already offering yourself
without meaning to.
That’s what living things do
when something darker touches them.


They shake.
They pray.
They stay.

Feel how your heart keeps reaching for my hand?
Not escape.
Not really.
It’s knocking.
Asking to be let in.


Stay still.
Let it beat.
Let it break itself open for me.
You’re alive.
And that’s all I need.

Because living things
belong to whoever can make them tremble.
And right now,
you’re mine.

Summer of 2026