Show me not in words, but in the sacred hush between them.
Show me—
not in words,
but in the sacred hush between them.
I am blind in this moment,
and your body
is the only scripture I believe in.
Trace me with purpose,
like you’re writing fire across skin
that’s waited a lifetime to burn.
Walk me through your landscape—
not as a man,
but as a pilgrim,
barefoot and reverent
on holy ground.
Let my hands memorize
each bend and bloom of you,
as if your breath were wind
and your sighs,
the prayers beneath it.
Let me learn you
like dawn learns darkness—
slow, unfolding,
light tasting shadow
inch by trembling inch.
Let me find the places
you hide your yes,
the corners of your ache,
where heat hums low
like thunder not yet spoken.
Your body is not a path—
it’s a storm of silk and smoke.
And I will follow
every soft collision,
every sacred detour,
until my name
slips from your lips
like a secret
finally set free.
Place my hands
where they summon your unraveling.
Let me feel the moment
you melt into surrender—
not because you yield,
but because you choose
to open like a bloom
in the hush before rain.
Lead me lover,
Take me to the edge
not fast—
but as flame leads smoke,
as gravity calls water.
Let every touch
be a vow,
every moan
a map,
every breath
A whisper in the dark calling me to the light,
So I may sit beneath your fire
And see for the first time.
Larson Langston
not in words,
but in the sacred hush between them.
I am blind in this moment,
and your body
is the only scripture I believe in.
Trace me with purpose,
like you’re writing fire across skin
that’s waited a lifetime to burn.
Walk me through your landscape—
not as a man,
but as a pilgrim,
barefoot and reverent
on holy ground.
Let my hands memorize
each bend and bloom of you,
as if your breath were wind
and your sighs,
the prayers beneath it.
Let me learn you
like dawn learns darkness—
slow, unfolding,
light tasting shadow
inch by trembling inch.
Let me find the places
you hide your yes,
the corners of your ache,
where heat hums low
like thunder not yet spoken.
Your body is not a path—
it’s a storm of silk and smoke.
And I will follow
every soft collision,
every sacred detour,
until my name
slips from your lips
like a secret
finally set free.
Place my hands
where they summon your unraveling.
Let me feel the moment
you melt into surrender—
not because you yield,
but because you choose
to open like a bloom
in the hush before rain.
Lead me lover,
Take me to the edge
not fast—
but as flame leads smoke,
as gravity calls water.
Let every touch
be a vow,
every moan
a map,
every breath
A whisper in the dark calling me to the light,
So I may sit beneath your fire
And see for the first time.
Larson Langston
