--- He Feels My Pulse Vijay Sharma Erry He feels my pulse, without touching it, As if the air between us whispers, A secret rhythm, A music my veins confess Without a sound. Like flower and honey, Our nearness is effortless, Unseen threads pulling sweetness From silence itself. He is the bumble bee, Hovering in circles of quiet worship, Never needing to wound, Only to sip what blooms in me, And I— The trembling blossom, Shivering beneath invisible wings. He feels my pulse in the pause of breath, In the way my eyes refuse to hide, In the soft tremor of words That collapse before they’re spoken. No touch, Yet I am unraveled. No claim, Yet I am wholly his. Like flower and honey, We know the dance of surrender— A sweetness born of risk, A nectar that binds Without chains. And in the hush of that moment, When he leans close but never touches, I discover the wild truth— That love is not the grasp, But the listening. Not the hand on skin, But the heart that hears What veins will always sing. He feels my pulse… And I bloom. ---