Love arrives in sensation.

In heat.

In sweetness.

In the moment before touch.

A flame flickers.

Fruit split open, heavy with promise.

Honey moves slowly, clinging, refusing to let go.

A mouth opens to breathe —

a brief inhale,

a knowing.

Water rushes forward, sudden and consuming.

And then, just as easily —

the candle is blown out.

What remains is the feeling.

The warmth.

The trace.

Something that lingers,

even after the breath is gone.