Lost in Bodies, She Remains
He learned the language of midnight skin
soft sighs, slow breaths, the pull of desire,
a wandering flame in borrowed arms,
feeding a cold, unending fire.
Women melted beneath his touch,
drawn to the storm behind his eyes,
the way he moved like he’d been broken,
like he carried truth wrapped in lies.
His hands were patient, almost tender,
tracing stories along their spine,
lingering just enough to make them wonder
if this darkness could still be kind.
And they leaned in closer, deeper,
caught in every stroke he gave away,
he knew exactly how to please them,
how to make their doubts obey.
But even there, in breathless closeness,
when bodies spoke without a sound,
his mind would drift to something softer
to the only love he’d ever found.
Not the fire beneath his fingers,
not the tension, sharp and sweet
but her quiet smile, her gentle laughter,
and the rhythm of her heartbeat.
He remembered how she smelt,
How she felt in stillness,
not in hunger, not in chase,
but the way the world would disappear
just by looking at her face.
So every touch became a shadow,
every moment split in two
one body pressed against his own,
one memory breaking through.
They moaned his name,
pulled him closer into the night,
but he was chasing something sacred
something they could never quite ignite.
Because what he wanted wasn’t pleasure,
not the thrill of skin on skin,
but the warmth of her against him,
and the peace he felt within.
Still, he ran from room to room,
a restless heart in velvet sin,
living fast in reckless passion,
hoping she’d dissolve within.
He became what heartbreak made him
a man of touch without a home,
a hunter lost in endless bodies,
yet forever alone.
And in the quiet after closeness,
when the night began to fade,
he felt it most the aching absence
of the love he couldn’t replace.
Because no matter how they arroused him,
no matter how their bodies pulled him near,
their warmth rose against him fleeting,
tembling closeness, but never reached him
like a kiss that never learned his name,
fading into something without meaning or memory.
Their fingers traced what once was hers,
their lips pressed close, their breath ran slow,
he gave them everything they came for
but never more than they could hold.
He moved with fire, precise and certain,
a quiet storm beneath his stare,
they felt the depth he never spoke of…
but she was the only one who lived there.
Not in the heat that filled the silence,
not in the pleasure they could share,
but in the part he kept untouched
that space was hers, and he left her there.
