Pulse

The air around us swells

as if inhaling the weight of a moment,

our breath, a slow tidal flood

that fills the sky until the stars themselves

quiver at the edge of light.

The moon ripens.

Its silver skin, once taut, peels back,

and its shine spills into the veins

of every leaf,

every blade of grass

that begins to hum with the soft static

of something too alive to contain.

Your fingers move like roots,

tangling into the earth of me,

unearthing what has slept in the shadow of my bones.

Here, where touch becomes flame,

where the heart expands

until it blurs into a field of poppies,

each bloom redder than blood,

each stem bending under the weight of desire.