“The Night I Touched Your Body”
Yes, I do love the scent of your body.
I admire how you tend to it
with the gentle hand of a craftsman,
the way you adorn it with sweet aroma,
knitting it with the power of your words,
leaving a man trembling before burning passion.
Yes, I love the curves of your body,
the proximity that awakens
a consuming desire within me,
the shape that holds my vision,
fixated on you,
devoted to an endless attachment.
Yes, I love the movements it guides
when no one is watching,
the hidden emotions it betrays,
the love language of touch
it awakens in the secrecy
of a romance that carries its own wounds.
But I know that your body
is the memory of many untold stories,
has survived the assaults of brutal hands,
the repository of unwanted touches,
and the weight of unfulfilled promises
that could not restore its dignity.
It has been used
because of its natural attraction,
abused because it was taken for granted,
carrying the scars of old lovers,
the weight of their breaths,
the wounds of their false promises,
the shame of memories
you once had to hide:
memories carefully selected
before you dared to unveil them.
Yet when I met you,
I did not see your body
as a lost monument.
It became
the temple of my tomorrow,
a resting place
that healed a wounded heart,
making me believe
that loving you is possible.
Today, I want to affirm
the sacredness it still carries,
the strength of its dignity,
to restore the life
that desire once awakened within it.
I want to lose myself
in the magical breath
that rises from you,
in the quiet mystery
of your presence,
and let the weight of your body
carry life,
breathing restoration
into a hopeless love,
beyond the borders of this moment,
across distant shores,
where love has not yet learned
to wound what it touches.
