A Slow Bloom

Fingertips trace

the line of his spine,

a quiet fire dancing

beneath skin and breath.

Bodies entwined,

hearts moving in measured rhythm,

eyes catching the pulse

of something tender,

something true.

Time narrows

to the space between

our pasts letting go,

our futures unfurling,

a love that blooms

slowly, insistently,

praying only to be felt,

to be remembered,

to endure.