There are connections that do not ask permission.
They invade you, they cross you, they strip you... but not of the body. From the soul.
So you don’t make love anymore: you are love.
The connection with another soul...
It's an invisible thread that ties the wrists,
an electric current that penetrates the skin before even touch.
It's the look that suffers for too long,
that silence full of omen,
distance that vibrates like an unspoken promise.
You come closer and you don't know if you're about to kiss her
or to dissolve you in her breath.
Fingers are scratching her skin,
but it is the soul that restrains, stretches, opens.
Words not needed,
because everything is talking:
the beat that speeds up,
The breath that breaks,
the skin that burns even under a light fabric.
You come closer, you look at her,
and in that very moment you understand
that real erotism is not in possession,
but to contemplate what you wish for
as if it were sacred.
Every kiss is an invitation,
Every caress is a charm,
and the moment your lips lose between hers,
you ain't making love anymore —
you're dissolving the lines between your worlds.
You don't grind it,
cross her through.
She don't even kiss you,
it sucks you in.
And it is on that precipice,
between heaven and hell,
you finally learn
what it means to be.
Misticanza ©️
-Spiritual poem
♥️💋🌹💋♥️
