The First Time I Touched the Sun
The First Time I Touched the Sun
I didn’t know the body could hum like that—
not from someone else’s fingers,
not from a lover’s mouth,
but from my own name whispered
between clenched teeth
and trembling hands.
No candles,
no silk sheets,
no swelling violin—
just a quiet rebellion
beneath the sheets
where I stopped asking permission
to feel good
in my own skin.
I learned the geography
of my own sighs,
mapped every shiver
like a cartographer of want.
Not for anyone.
Not for show.
But because I could.
It wasn’t shame I felt
when the quake passed—
it was wonder.
Like discovering fire
inside my own chest,
and realizing
I didn’t need to be struck
to burn.
What's Your Reaction?
Due to the nature of this site, you must be logged in to react.
