Recipe for my undoing
Playing with words and eroticism
Musky pearlescence, pungent petrichor, hushed velichor.
You laid out like an offering
in a nest of blankets on the library floor,
the taste of salt skin and hot honey on my tongue.
Firelight glinting in your eyes,
while the smell of rain-drenched peonies
wafts in through the open window.
I love this - it feels like a ritual undoing itself, every sensation stretching into comfort, without a single scene remaining familiar to us.
This is really pretty! Hushed velichor… I love that. I could smell the scene you painted for us!