The Heat of Blooming

Your fingers are the wind,
brushing across my skin.
Every touch makes me tremble,
and I respond,
like a flower leaning toward you in the breeze,
unfolding without hesitation.
A bloom wanting more than it can hold.

Your hands are the rain,
each drop feels like an invitation,
that draws me open.

Your mouth is the sun,
burning through me—
a heat that consumes,
but leaves me hungry for more.
Every kiss lights a fire.
My body responds to your intensity,
every inch of me reacts to your
fingers, lips, the weight of your presence.
I let you dive deep
into the soil of my desire—
digging, searching,
until I shudder beneath you.
You take a bite out of my ripest fruit,
And I watch as the juice drips from the corners of your smile. 

You’re the spark,
the lightning pulsing through me—
a wave of electricity through each of my delicate petals.
You pull me closer,
overwhelming my senses,
until I break open,
shattering the calm,
unleashing something I didn’t know I could give,
trembling,
uncontrollable,
until the thunder crashes,
and I’m lost in it—
a wild, unrestrained force
that only you could summon.
And boy, were you up for the challenge.

When the night falls,
we’re nothing but desire—
a force moving together,
each touch, each glance,
another moment of exploration,
another layer of me peeled back.

I am a garden,
the raw, aching bloom,
untamed, hungry,
waiting for you to take more.
And in the quiet of the night,
when we finally collapse,
we are fire,
and I burn for you,
until there’s nothing left
but the echo of what I crave.