I donāt drink wineāI drink you. šš· Every inch of your skin is a vintage of graceāaged in silence, fermented in longing, served raw and trembling under my lips. I taste redemption in the salt of your sweat, in the warmth of your pulse beneath my tongue, in the quiet after your sigh when you think Iām not listeningā¦ but I am. Always. š„ You donāt preach forgivenessāyou embody it. With every kiss, every bite, every slow trail of my mouth down your chest, Iām unmade and remade. Not by sermons or saintsā¦ but by the sacred alchemy of your body meeting mine. This isnāt lust. Itās liturgy. And every time I taste you, Iām baptizedānot in water, but in the intoxicating, sinful, holy truth that I am finally, fully, saved.
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