Your words of pure joy.

You speak to me through silence—
a rushing river of sinful desire,
flooding every quiet space with words between us.
It’s pure pleasure,
the kind that makes you shiver before you even touch,
the kind that coils in your belly,
ready to explode.

My mind—euphoria.
My body—flames licking at the edges of restraint.
I imagine your skin:
smooth, gentle, silk that breathes,
tasting like the finest velvet soaked in heat.

You run through my thoughts without borders,
a wild tiger prowling, biting,
marking me with every glance.
I ache for the way you move—
slow, deliberate,
like you know I’ll beg before you’re done.

Your breath against my neck is prophecy.
Your fingers, scripture.
And when you finally press into me—
not just with your body,
but with your knowing—
I unravel.

Not from pain.
Not from fear.
But from the holy truth
that I was always meant
to burn for you.
I speak to you throughout words,
without the noise

-jason

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