In the Curve of Your Hands

When you look my way,

I dissolve like water

slipping into the curve of your hands.

I cannot resist

you are the weakness etched into me,

the pulse that betrays my calm.

When you lean close,

control unravels,

something ancient stirs in my bones,

and I am no longer my own.

You are different,

a rare kind of gentle.

You make me feel chosen,

as though love itself remembered my name.

And I think

*You truly love me.*

You set me alight,

glowing in your warmth.

You treat me so tenderly

that forever no longer feels long enough.

-dmnd