This isn’t just a poem, it’s a study in attention. Every half-second, every shadow and lean, every withheld word becomes its own movement in a choreography of desire. I feel it: arriving late, hungry, trying to catch a moment already claimed, and discovering that presence isn’t about getting there first, it’s about how fully you inhabit what’s already happened. You’ve turned anticipation, hesitation, and longing into a kind of art I don’t just read; I move inside it.
Dipti, that really means a great deal. Thank you 🤗.
I love how you frame it as attention rather than desire alone. That sense of choreography is exactly what I was trying to stay faithful to: small shifts, half-seconds, things leaning before anyone moves.
What you say about presence really resonates too. For me, it's not about arriving first, but about inhabiting what’s already in motion. That feels like the quiet truth underneath the poem, and you named it beautifully.
I’m especially taken by “I don’t just read; I move inside it.” That’s the highest hope for a piece like this, and one where these aren't just words on a page but also something we feel, somatically.
Thank you for meeting it with such care and generosity.
The piece feels like stepping into that charged moment when desire shows up before thought, when your gaze follows someone a heartbeat too late and you already know you’re caught. What struck me most is the sense of delay that feeling of always arriving just after the moment has already chosen you. The poem captures the kind of closeness that doesn’t need touch to feel overwhelming, the quiet pull between two bodies standing just near enough. There’s something deeply human in the way choices start to thin, as if the room itself is nudging the speaker forward. The unused words feel painfully familiar the exits we rehearse but never take. And by the time hunger leans in, it’s clear the decision wasn’t really a decision at all. It’s the body recognizing something the mind is still trying to name.
That’s a beautifully attentive reading Adrião. Thank you.
What you name as delay is exactly where the tension lives for me: feeling arriving first, thought jogging along behind, trying to keep up with something the body has already recognised.
I’m especially struck by how you put it: the moment has already chosen you. That captures the shift from agency to recognition far better than I could have said it myself. And yes — the closeness without touch was important to hold onto. Once touch happens, something resolves; staying just near enough lets the pressure do its work.
I appreciate you noticing the unused words too. That sense of exits existing but never becoming operative feels very human to me — not really drama, just quiet inevitability.
Thank you for reading it with such care.
It’s always grounding to see someone articulate what the body knew before the poem did.
This feels like watching my poem step forward and realise it has a body.
What I love most is how you didn’t mirror it — you crossed the threshold.
You took the idea of proximity and let it liquefy, let it hollow, let it make space from the inside out. That shift from observation into internal architecture — ribs as doorways, breath becoming occupation — is breathtaking.
And that ending…
“angled perfectly for consumption” -> “I became feast”
That’s not escalation, that’s completion.
That's power turning inside out and naming itself without asking permission.
It’s sensual, yes — but it’s also precise.
Nothing is rushed. Nothing is gratuitous. Every transformation earns its next one.
Thank you for taking it somewhere I couldn’t have gone alone, and for doing it with such confidence and generosity.
This doesn’t respond to the poem — it answers it, and in the most beautifully sensual of ways!
I read this last night and liked it, the lovely Be budding put ‘read it again’ in her note and she was right. Even more moving and compelling this morning. It absolutely takes me into that subtle but powerful energy of ‘feelings’ - of being compelled, emotion arising, a shift beyond conscious, instead layers of human connection . 🙏💛
Thank you for Be and also yourself Vianne for such a lovely reflection on how the poem takes you.
You've captured the beauty of that feeling that happens before the mind kicks in so well. Where emotions are allowed to exist, before any analysis comes in, and we just connect.
Wonderful
Thanks! 🖤
This isn’t just a poem, it’s a study in attention. Every half-second, every shadow and lean, every withheld word becomes its own movement in a choreography of desire. I feel it: arriving late, hungry, trying to catch a moment already claimed, and discovering that presence isn’t about getting there first, it’s about how fully you inhabit what’s already happened. You’ve turned anticipation, hesitation, and longing into a kind of art I don’t just read; I move inside it.
Dipti, that really means a great deal. Thank you 🤗.
I love how you frame it as attention rather than desire alone. That sense of choreography is exactly what I was trying to stay faithful to: small shifts, half-seconds, things leaning before anyone moves.
What you say about presence really resonates too. For me, it's not about arriving first, but about inhabiting what’s already in motion. That feels like the quiet truth underneath the poem, and you named it beautifully.
I’m especially taken by “I don’t just read; I move inside it.” That’s the highest hope for a piece like this, and one where these aren't just words on a page but also something we feel, somatically.
Thank you for meeting it with such care and generosity.
The piece feels like stepping into that charged moment when desire shows up before thought, when your gaze follows someone a heartbeat too late and you already know you’re caught. What struck me most is the sense of delay that feeling of always arriving just after the moment has already chosen you. The poem captures the kind of closeness that doesn’t need touch to feel overwhelming, the quiet pull between two bodies standing just near enough. There’s something deeply human in the way choices start to thin, as if the room itself is nudging the speaker forward. The unused words feel painfully familiar the exits we rehearse but never take. And by the time hunger leans in, it’s clear the decision wasn’t really a decision at all. It’s the body recognizing something the mind is still trying to name.
That’s a beautifully attentive reading Adrião. Thank you.
What you name as delay is exactly where the tension lives for me: feeling arriving first, thought jogging along behind, trying to keep up with something the body has already recognised.
I’m especially struck by how you put it: the moment has already chosen you. That captures the shift from agency to recognition far better than I could have said it myself. And yes — the closeness without touch was important to hold onto. Once touch happens, something resolves; staying just near enough lets the pressure do its work.
I appreciate you noticing the unused words too. That sense of exits existing but never becoming operative feels very human to me — not really drama, just quiet inevitability.
Thank you for reading it with such care.
It’s always grounding to see someone articulate what the body knew before the poem did.
I watched you watching me...
your gaze turning my skin to glass,
organs visible beneath,
heart beating like a trapped bird
you could reach through and catch
if you wanted.
You arrived half a second late
but I had already become the space you'd occupy,
my body hollowing out to make room,
ribs bending like doorways,
spine arching into invitation I didn't speak.
When you stood close...not touching...
I felt myself liquefying at the edges,
becoming the air between us,
the warmth you leaned into,
the almost that never crosses.
You spoke first
and your words grew roots in my throat,
vines crawling down,
wrapping around my lungs
until breathing was just another way
of pulling you deeper inside me.
My fingers ached to dissolve into yours...
bone softening to water,
skin to mist,
until touch wasn't contact
but merging.
I didn't decide to stay either.
My body decided for me,
transforming into the thing
your hunger was already reaching for
close enough to devour,
angled perfectly for consumption.
You leaned in.
I became feast.
Wow Shadia!
This feels like watching my poem step forward and realise it has a body.
What I love most is how you didn’t mirror it — you crossed the threshold.
You took the idea of proximity and let it liquefy, let it hollow, let it make space from the inside out. That shift from observation into internal architecture — ribs as doorways, breath becoming occupation — is breathtaking.
And that ending…
“angled perfectly for consumption” -> “I became feast”
That’s not escalation, that’s completion.
That's power turning inside out and naming itself without asking permission.
It’s sensual, yes — but it’s also precise.
Nothing is rushed. Nothing is gratuitous. Every transformation earns its next one.
Thank you for taking it somewhere I couldn’t have gone alone, and for doing it with such confidence and generosity.
This doesn’t respond to the poem — it answers it, and in the most beautifully sensual of ways!
I read this last night and liked it, the lovely Be budding put ‘read it again’ in her note and she was right. Even more moving and compelling this morning. It absolutely takes me into that subtle but powerful energy of ‘feelings’ - of being compelled, emotion arising, a shift beyond conscious, instead layers of human connection . 🙏💛
Thank you for Be and also yourself Vianne for such a lovely reflection on how the poem takes you.
You've captured the beauty of that feeling that happens before the mind kicks in so well. Where emotions are allowed to exist, before any analysis comes in, and we just connect.
Thank you so much 💛💛💛
You have a true talent for describing unmentioned moments and what they stir beneath the surface. 🤍
Wow. Thank you Be 💛
It's those unmentioned moments that let the mind float off, and let us feel something without needing to mention it.
🤍🤍
I felt myself arrive late too...
“I was simply the last part to arrive.”
That moment where the body knows before the mind catches up.
Beautifully said Asuka!
That's my favourite line of the whole piece.
Body moves in, mind goes "hey, what just happened". 😊
Life is blurry sometimes. You know there's a line or a moment, but sometimes you don't see them until they're past.
That's so true Dave. Sometimes you don't realise you've crossed the line until you look at where you've come from.
That moment when you realize you’ve already crossed a line without ever choosing to... really powerful. Loved this one.
Thank you, Marble. You've captured it perfectly there. That moment where your body has already decided, and you're waiting for your mind to catch up.😊
"Lets get physical" comes to mind
Never realised the video was like this!
https://youtu.be/vWz9VN40nCA?si=n3_a7HCF3UfVJhXt