Your love is written upon my skin, A tapestry of touch, alive, electric, Each thread a whispered promise, Each knot a sigh that binds me to you.
The ink of intimacy flows unending,
Seeping into the deepest corners of my soul,
Its rhythm a pulse, a hymn,
A song of bodies speaking without words.
Eros herself must have sculpted your hands,
For they trace me like a map to heaven,
Guided by fire, stoked by the hunger of stars,
Marking me with the poetry of desire.
I am your canvas, open and bare,
Your strokes are bold, yet achingly tender,
Painted in tones of moans and shivers,
The masterpiece of two lovers lost in eternity.
Every sigh is an invocation,
Every gasp a prayer to this temple we’ve built.
Here, we are gods, creating galaxies,
Each kiss a constellation, each thrust a nova.
Write me again, etch me anew,
Fill my emptiness with your presence,
Until my skin remembers nothing
But the language of your love.
Together, we are the divine dream,
A delicious delight,
A flame eternal.
Your love, a language my body knows,
An alphabet traced in whispers and moans,
Each touch a syllable, each kiss a phrase,
In the poetry of passion, I am set ablaze.
Fingers sketch verses on the curve of my spine,
A masterpiece formed where our bodies entwine.
The ink of intimacy bleeds deep, unseen,
A rhythm of rapture, raw and serene.
You are the artist, and I am the clay,
Molded by heat in a lustrous ballet.
Each breath, a stroke; each sigh, a hue,
Creating a cosmos where only we two.
I am undone in the sweep of your hands,
Each caress maps uncharted lands.
Desires unspoken sing sweet and wild,
A feral hymn, a lover’s child.
Eros whispers through your lips on my skin,
A divine hymn beckoning sin.
In this temple of touch, we burn as one,
Our bodies, our worship, until the dawn is spun.
Write me again, let this story not cease
A sensual sonnet of untamed release.
Your love is the ink, my soul is the page,
Together we craft a timeless stage.
Larson Langston
Art by Nicholas Agus
Seeping into the deepest corners of my soul,
Its rhythm a pulse, a hymn,
A song of bodies speaking without words.
Eros herself must have sculpted your hands,
For they trace me like a map to heaven,
Guided by fire, stoked by the hunger of stars,
Marking me with the poetry of desire.
I am your canvas, open and bare,
Your strokes are bold, yet achingly tender,
Painted in tones of moans and shivers,
The masterpiece of two lovers lost in eternity.
Every sigh is an invocation,
Every gasp a prayer to this temple we’ve built.
Here, we are gods, creating galaxies,
Each kiss a constellation, each thrust a nova.
Write me again, etch me anew,
Fill my emptiness with your presence,
Until my skin remembers nothing
But the language of your love.
Together, we are the divine dream,
A delicious delight,
A flame eternal.
Your love, a language my body knows,
An alphabet traced in whispers and moans,
Each touch a syllable, each kiss a phrase,
In the poetry of passion, I am set ablaze.
Fingers sketch verses on the curve of my spine,
A masterpiece formed where our bodies entwine.
The ink of intimacy bleeds deep, unseen,
A rhythm of rapture, raw and serene.
You are the artist, and I am the clay,
Molded by heat in a lustrous ballet.
Each breath, a stroke; each sigh, a hue,
Creating a cosmos where only we two.
I am undone in the sweep of your hands,
Each caress maps uncharted lands.
Desires unspoken sing sweet and wild,
A feral hymn, a lover’s child.
Eros whispers through your lips on my skin,
A divine hymn beckoning sin.
In this temple of touch, we burn as one,
Our bodies, our worship, until the dawn is spun.
Write me again, let this story not cease
A sensual sonnet of untamed release.
Your love is the ink, my soul is the page,
Together we craft a timeless stage.
Larson Langston
Art by Nicholas Agus
