A Full Hand on Her Breast
A tale to tell of a remarkable love—intense, buried beneath a hidden summer snow. Slowly, and almost against my will, a secret longing began to grow. It was for a woman I never touched.
I feared I had imagined her into the depths of my own unrest, believing she could never love me despite all that I carried for her within my heart. Gently, I moved through the temptation, unaware of where it might lead if allowed to take its course.
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— A note from Xhale
This poem arrived like a held breath, born from the ache of loving someone only in the quiet corners of the mind. It lives in that fragile space between what could be confessed and what must remain untouched, where desire learns to dress itself in restraint.
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Author’s Note
This piece traces the quiet ache of loving someone from a distance, where touch is imagined and every glance feels like a suspended confession. It lingers in the weight of what is never spoken aloud, moving carefully through temptation so that tenderness can exist without betrayal.
