This throat I hold, a sparrow cradled tight,
In hands that warm the winter's chilblain sting.
The touch that spools around your neck at night,
An intimate clasp where comfort wraps, takes wing.

Each vertebra you count, a whispered claim,
Assurance given as the heartbeats chime.
My fingers thread through yours. no need for name, In silence speaks our language, so sublime.

A gentle firmness tells you that you belong to me,
The heat from palms to skin in fond transfer.
you being, cloaked in comfort, reassures,
“With me, you'll always have a steadfast warmth.”

The language of our bodies, deftly spun,
Delivers comfort when the day is done.
© Tiger64X2
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