Golden Hour
Abrar Nayeem Chowdhury
In a room where bottles glow like held-in breath,
You stand, and time forgets its forward step.
A man like me, taught strength means hiding depth,
Feels armor crack where confidence is kept.
Your dress speaks softly, silver-threaded flame,
It doesn’t shout, it leans into my sight.
Desire today is not a hunting game,
It wants to be chosen for the night.
I want the pause before our fingers meet,
The spark that lives inside is almost a touch.
A kiss imagined tastes already sweet,
Because restraint can ache and thrill as much.
Men now crave more than bodies, more than heat,
We want the moment someone really sees.
Your smile feels like a promise incomplete,
A slow, deliberate kind of intimacy.
I’d kiss you like the world is loud outside,
And this is where my pulse can finally rest.
My hand would learn your rhythm, not your pride,
Tracing courage where your calm is dressed.
If love today is fragile, sharp, and rare,
Then standing here with you feels brave and true.
In this soft light, with longing in the air,
Every part of me keeps leaning toward you.

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