seduction is dead
my mouth hasn’t shut up about you not since the first almost that electric pause before skin becomes language we used to write like that, didn’t we? ink spilling what the body couldn’t hold fingers blotted with ink sentences trembling with the risk of being read now desire arrives as a notification glowing, ambiguous something to be opened or ignored we swipe as if longing were frictionless as if heat could be generated by glass but i have felt it elsewhere in the quiet ceremony of my hand finding the small of your back in the unnoticed kindness of a glass refilled before thirst speaks in the way someone says your name like it has weight seduction is not a strategy it's a threshold a lip grazed by a thumb a sentence that risks too much i’m always thinking about kissing you it lives in the space before certainty where bodies hesitate just long enough to become aware of their own shadow we have made everything legible timestamps, read receipts the autopsy of punctuation we call this clarity but it is only distance in disguise because real wanting is clumsy inefficient impossible to retract it smells like skin sounds like laughter spilling too loud feels like time slowing its pulse to watch two people decide whether to fall face and heart sore from smiling i want the unbearable closeness of it the moment where breath forgets itself where the world narrows to the inch between mouths not the message that says “maybe” not the silence that says “guess” but the simple, devastating arrival: i’m here



seduction is not dead and this is proof. beautiful
Well writ.