Cocoon

We weren’t looking.
But there we were —
two bodies meeting
in the soft hour of light.

Water first.
Cool, silent,
holding us without asking.
No words,
just movement,
and the hum between breaths.

Then air took us —
a hammock,
a cocoon,
swaying somewhere between gravity and grace.
We hung there,
skin to skin,
neither needing to reach nor retreat.

The world felt simple again —
air and water,
weight and drift,
firmness and softness
finding their balance
somewhere between us.

You were quiet,
beautiful,
unafraid.
So was I.

We got lost
in a million soft kisses —
thought drifted,
and only touch remained,
folding into the tide
of what simply was.

No promises.
No names for it.
Only the body knowing itself
through another,
only the moment
deciding what it wanted to be.

Naked.
Suspended.
Uninhibited.

For a time,
air and water agreed
to hold us both.