Single-Minded Devotion

Night turns the window into a mirror. Breaths intertwine, heat spreads along the collarbone. The lights aren't fully on, yet desire fills the room. Neither speaks—the air has already grown damp first. The lamp is dim. She isn't rushed, and he doesn't push. Breathing grows heavier, clinging to the skin. Eye contact burns hotter than touch, desire drawn out long and scorching.