By JH Sayyar
O breath that breaks from lips in soft flame,
Soft thunder rolling from the throat of night,
Each gasp a psalm that hath no need of name,
Each moan a star flared wild in carnal flight.
What music lives within that trembling sound!
When bodies speak in tongues of pulse and heat?
A symphony where silken limbs are bound,
And rhythm finds its end where heartbeats meet.
These sighs are not of sorrow, nor of pain—
They bloom from pleasure’s deep, unfolding rose,
Where touch is truth and every kiss is rain
That falls where sweet, forbidden garden grows.
O sacred breath, O language born of skin,
Thy lustrous sighs reveal the soul within.
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