A Kiss in the Dark
It begins
like the first drop of rain on parched earth—
a whisper,
not yet a touch,
but a promise hanging in the air.
The world dissolves;
walls collapse into shadows,
the clock forgets its ticking.
We are suspended—
two constellations spiraling
toward collision,
a secret carved into the night.
Your breath is a feather,
brushing against my skin,
and my heartbeat
is a moth
trapped in the lantern’s glow.
In this darkness,
where sight surrenders,
I feel everything—
the gravity of your nearness,
the quiet tremble of your soul,
the weight of words unspoken.
This kiss is no kiss at all,
but a quiet revolution,
a map to the unknown,
a key to the door
I never dared open.
Outside, the stars watch
with their silent, jealous light.
The moon hides behind clouds,
a voyeur cloaked in silver.
And as our lips meet,
the universe exhales—
not with fire,
but with the soft, unrelenting hum
of two infinities touching.
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