When I turn away
he finds me
A hand to my jaw
a look I can’t outrun
He doesn’t move like he’s thinking
he moves like breath
like instinct
like the step
between desire
and permission
We don’t speak in answers
we speak in breath
in steps
in touches that say
stay
And eyes that whisper
you won’t
Even when I leave the room
he’s still in it
Not as a thought
as a feeling
tucked behind the pause
between what I’m doing
and what I’m pretending not to feel
He’s beautiful in a way
that feels private
like he’s never been touched
the way he needed to be
And I don’t want to give him
some impossible dream
I want to show him
that passion doesn’t have to vanish
It can live
right here
in soft moments
in silence
in the safety
of being known
With him
breath has rhythm
touch has rules
Every inch of him
asks to be studied
like a prayer
I was never taught
but somehow know
His presence doesn’t suggest God
it proves Him
Not in miracles
but in the way
the world quiets
when he touches me
Like just for a moment
everything
feels
like it was meant
to
The fire doesn’t die
it lowers
smolders
waits
Even when I’m gone
I’m still with him
in the quiet
he doesn’t know
I fill
But there’s a part of me
a part I don’t say out loud
that knows fire
can’t stay warm forever
That even the holiest things
can rot on the tongue
when they’re left too long unspoken
That the same heat
that made me reach for him
might one day
make me walk away
That what began in reverence
could end in ruin
if we forget
the rhythm
And if the dance ever ends
if the music really stops
if the silence
wins
Let him remember
With us
everything
was gospel
-AB
Wishful Thinking 
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