In his arms

The art in his touch

Felt like a never-ending goodbye,

His sublime touch—a caress, a kiss—

Smooching too long to not let him leave.

You breathed a hymn I knew by heart,

One that still sings me home from worlds apart.

Every whisper became a plea:

Don’t let this moment set us free.

There were no apologies, only sex—

Felt so heavenly, like prayers undressed.

His arms compelled comfort, stillness, and grace,

A quiet refuge, a sacred place.

His kisses rewrote every apology,

Four years of longing spilled between the sheets.

And when the silence finally came,

It wasn’t hollow, nor filled with shame.

It was a peaceful goodbye—

This, somehow, had to end.