eulogy 3
She comes to me in the velvet hours, a shadow that smells of leather and fire. I trembled before her, my heart clattering like glass against ribs that ache with memory.
Her fingers trace my face, with deliberate, knowing hunger, and I shiver, because no man has ever touched me like this — no warmth has ever burned so deep, so precise. She is danger and devotion entwined, a lover and a predator in one breath.
Her lips press to my chest, and the air ignites, a quiet storm that sets my pulse a blaze. Every brush of her skin, every sigh she draws from me, pulls me deeper into a tide of ache and longing. She makes me tremble, makes me forget the difference between pleasure and pain, awakening the fire of my loins that only she can stir.
She moves through me like water and flame, pulling me under into currents I have no right to follow. Only she can love me like this — more passionately, more devastatingly, more completely than any man ever could. Her hunger is a claim her touch a confession, and I surrender willingly, because it is all I have ever wanted.
By dawn, she is gone, but her shadow lingers on my skin, in my pulse, in the hollow of my chest. I still feel her lips, her hands, the impossible, exquisite love that lives only in the dark, and I will never, cannot, forget how she has undone me.
Chloe