warm honey ▸ poetry

6

it was a chilly saturday afternoon, a light drizzle of rain scattered the sky here and there.

we were cuddled up on the couch, me fitting against you like a puzzle piece. your body was warm, like it always was, and there was a blanket thrown over us - the same one you had tugged off of your bed and dragged down the rickety, wooden staircase for my sake.

with my ear pressed against your chest, i could hear the fast, rhythmic beats of your heart. my eyes were closed, but i could tell you were nervous. your hands, that were effortlessly wrapped around my tiny frame, shook with a sort of fear that only love could carry - the sort of fear that you were holding something so precious, so fragile as someone else's heart, that you had to be more careful than you had ever been before.

it was then when i felt you shift, one of your hands disappearing for a split second before it was gently placed under my chin. your fingers were long, bent against me like a magnetic force pulling me forward. i didn't open my eyes for i knew what was happening and i had no intention to stop it.

you leaned down ever so slightly.

you pressed your lips to mine.

i pressed my lips to yours.

we were one in each other, harmonic.