Our Love in the Mountains

High in the mountains, where silence wrapped us,

where the earth stood ancient and the sky endless,

we found our secret world.

No one saw us but the peaks,

no one heard us but the wind.

You held me close, face to face,

your hands warm upon my back,

eyes locked with mine.

You whispered, “I miss these expressions,”

and pulled me tighter,

your voice deep, certain: “You are mine.”

I climbed on top of you,

straddling your hips,

the mountain air cool against our skin.

I looked into your soft face,

a tenderness I love,

the boy revealed beneath the man.

I pressed your hands down into the earth,

and you let me hold you there,

surrendering to my play.

Then your strength surged—

you began to thrust hard,

urgency rising,

fucking me until I came undone,

my body trembling,

my moans echoing into the open air.

You turned me over,

took me from behind,

my right arm pulled back in your hand,

your other hand tight on my hip.

You fucked me with anger,

deep, relentless, consuming.

It was not hatred—

but longing, fear, and fire,

as if to say:

“Don’t slip away from me.

You are mine.”

The mountains stood witness,

ancient and silent,

holding our secret in their vast embrace.

Today, you were both softness and storm:

the tender boy with gentle eyes,

the fierce man with unyielding desire.

I loved you in every shade of yourself,

and in your hands, I knew again—

I am yours,

and you are mine.