You left the nightshirt on—thin cotton holding secrets
where my fingers want their home.
A cheap room breathes warm dust and old perfume,
and still you make it feel like Rome.
Your mouth gives me a crooked vow,
then steals it back,
then dares me not to roam.
I read the curve of you through fabric,
reading bruised desire in a muted tone.
My hands learn patience by necessity,
my pulse stays rude, my face stays stone.
You laugh beneath your breath,
half tender, half threat,
as if longing’s just a loan.
Outside, dark palms sway like jurors,
watching lovers lose their case.
The highway sighs in distance,
and every passing car feels paid
to look away from what we chase.
You ride my knee, slow hazard,
half-dressed confession,
tracing questions down my face.
I memorize what I’m allowed to touch
and mourn in advance each piece of lace.
The overhead fan ticks like a tired clock
that gave up counting hours,
just counting grace.
Your nightshirt shifts,
reveals a collarbone,
and I lose my composure,
lose the race.
I’ve known loud sex that begs for applause,
all thrust and brag and bright disguise.
This is quieter, stranger, sharper—
an afterburn behind your careful eyes.
You turn your shoulder, offer skin in slivers,
rationing the feast with practiced lies.
My name stays out of it, your name stays out of it,
and still the room knows what we prize.
A lipstick ghost on glass,
a hairpin on the sink—
the sort of evidence that never testifies.
Your scent clings to my shirtfront,
stubborn as a grudge,
sweet as a crime that never dies.
When you finally pull me closer,
it isn’t surrender, it’s a choice with teeth and weight.
You show me how to beg
without a sound,
without a face.
Then you stop,
smile wicked,
tug the nightshirt down again,
leaving me wrecked in the calm you place.
You give me the aftermath on purpose,
the warm dent in sheets,
the damp cuff,
the half-smudged makeup face.
Give me traces, not a verdict carved in bone.
Give me proof in creases, heat in tone.
Intimacy that hates explanations,
intimacy that lives on what remains,
then walks out proud,
leaving only trace.