Undressed #1: A french love story

An erotic letter to a love that didn’t stay — but still burns.

The bed is wet.
My legs trembling.
My head spinning
as if Paris itself were tilting beneath me,
its rooftops tipping into stars.
And still, in your arms,
I have never felt more steady.

Your fingertips trace poetry down my back,
like verses whispered in a sacred tongue,
spoken only by skin,
inhaled between gasps and low moans,
each syllable another permission slip
to be fully here.
Fully felt.

The room glows,
candlelight flickers
like my heartbeat in your hands.
Peach oil and you
blur into something I wanted to bottle forever.
Your mouth has carved its name into my thighs.
My body is an altar now.
And you,
a worshiper who knew exactly how to pray.

I watch you move barefoot through the kitchen,
melting chocolate
like it’s nothing.
As if you weren’t already
the sweetest thing in the room.
As if your smile didn’t already ruin me.