Your Writing On My Skin

By Deputy Features and Opinions Editor Luca Oakman

Your hand moves slow,a whisper before it lands,pausing like a held breath,the first word of an unwritten verse.

Fingers glide,inkless lines drawn across my skin,each stroke a hidden phrase, 

every pause a confession

You trace longing into flesh,

a language carved by devotion,

where every touch confesses

what words dare not say.

The curve of your palm

spells tenderness,

the press of your lips

marks desire—

a poem rising between us.

As our bodies speak,

a rhythm builds,

each subtle movement,

a promise etched deeper

with every breath.

Until love is no longer spoken

but felt,

written solely in skin,

and sealed

beneath a sweet kiss.