Whispers in the Dark

The room hums with silence,
thick and electric,
as if the walls themselves
are holding their breath.

You lean in, so close—
Your lips barely brushing
the curve of my neck,
words forming without sound.
A whisper.
A promise.
A warning.

My skin blooms beneath your touch,
each fingertip a slow burn,
tracing paths only we can see—
mapping out the edges of desire,
coloring outside the lines.

The dark is our accomplice,
cloaking us in secrecy,
letting hands roam where eyes cannot,
turning every sigh into a symphony
Only we can hear.

You tell me things in that hush—
things you’d never dare
With the lights on.
Things that make my pulse race,
make my knees weaken,
Make me yours
Before you even lay me down.

And when you finally do,
The world outside ceases to exist.
It’s just us,
bodies tangled,
breath stolen and shared,
a rhythm older than memory.

Your whispers grow ragged,
until words dissolve into groans,
into gasps,
into the wild sound of wanting.

And when it’s over—
when we are spent and still,
our bodies heavy with satisfaction—
You kiss the hollow of my throat
and murmur,
“Until the dark retakes us.”