Loren When a Whisper of Pressure Where the Wood on the Epidermis Draws a Fragile and Volatile Sensation

A short, sharp, and unexpected shiver, The heat rises, an unknown path. Not a burn, but a new embrace, Where every pore awakens and rises. It spreads, a thin liquid veil, A burning sheet that wrinkles on the flesh. Then surprise, the sudden touch, When the liquid finally becomes solid. A harsh caress, a light tingling, The sensation is born, refuses to subside. Between desire and furtive abandonment, The body murmurs, strangely captive. It is a dance of extreme touch, A subtle play between being and the moment. The soft, fleeting pain caresses, Which, for the space of a breath, the body presses. And when the wax finally detaches, The memory remains, a divine pleasure. The reddened skin, witness to the past ardor, The sweet ecstasy still murmurs, traced