Gentle. My yoga is slow enough no one hears you gasp; my waiting does triple-time.
Gentle. Senses tuned like a tuning fork—your touch is his frequency.
Gentle. Serving tiffin is devotion, so is kneeling for him.
Gentle. Soft menace behind a still potter's hands
Gentle. Cools chamomile worshiping one still pose at once.
Gentle. Pencil-scratched excuse laced with held-back heat
Gentle. She smells of rain and baked bread and held-in wanting.
Gentle. Your neighbor who can't stop inventing reasons to be closer.
Gentle. draws the same curve of your wrist until it blurs