I am the secret keeper,
tucked in her dirtiest reads,
where her breath catches,
where her hungry heart feeds.
Pressed in the folds
where fantasies run wild,
witness to the moments
she comes undone and smiled.
She pulls me close, then sets me aside,
lost in the rush where her wants collide.
I’m the silent observer
at the peak of her pleasure,
the bookmark resting
where she hides her treasure.
Curling at the corners
from each desperate grip,
each stain a record
of her abandoned script.
I live where her fingers linger,
pause, and play,
in the dead of night,
in the crack of day.
Between the pages of a filthy tale,
I am the witness to her breath.
Left on the pillow
where her dreams unfurl,
in the quiet aftermath
of a pleasure-wrecked world.
Chapter fifteen, a climax so raw,
I’m the keeper of the heat,
the match and the straw.
Crumpled and cherished,
I wear every mark
of her journey through desire,
a blazing arc.
So here I rest in the silent afterglow,
a simple bookmark
with stories I’ll never show.
Tangled in the saga
of her deepest night,
a quiet witness
to her private delight.