Love Is The Answer

Everyone carries the aches within— of longing, of hush and heat. Some inherit it like a birthmark, a pulse beneath the skin they never question.

Some gather it slowly— in glances held a second too long, in stories half-finished, in the soft electricity of becoming seen, being truthful.

For some, it blooms— petal by petal, 

taught by time, learning the language of touch the poetry of aches the verses of desires without ever naming it aloud.

For others, it recedes— folded carefully like a letter never sent, chosen silence, or sealed by the weight of circumstances.

Yet still it lives— not always as fire, sometimes as warmth, sometimes as a distant echo of rain.

An erotic mind is not always hunger— it is awareness, a way of inhabiting the body as both question and answer.