The air was thick, electric, slow,
the kind of dark that seems to glow.
The tunnel hummed, the concrete sighed,
as London pulsed and multiplied.
We stood so near — the city spun,
your breath met mine and merged to one.
The crowd was noise, a faceless sea,
but all I felt was you on me.
Your eyes — those cold blue, hungry things —
cut straight through noise and metal rings.
A look that hunted, found, and stayed,
like predator and unmade prey.
The train approached, the platform shook,
and something primal in me looked
for danger, want, for something raw —
I met your gaze and broke the law.
We didn’t touch — not quite, not yet —
but every inch of me was wet
with waiting, wanting, trying still
to cage that hot, feral thrill.
A brush of fabric, breath, a graze —
each second burned a hundred ways.
Your hand so near I swore the air
could feel the promise waiting there.
Around us, strangers pressed and swayed,
their stories lost, their faces frayed.
But we were fire in all that grey,
the match the city turned away.
You smiled — that quiet, knowing sin —
the kind that pulls the trembling in.
And though the world could never see,
you owned the dark, you conquered me.
