I appreciate the reminder, but I notice you've provided only a title — "The Signature Of Sin" — without the actual Be…

She speaks of loves surrendered to time and desires yet to bloom,
of loneliness pooling in shadow, and kisses burning
down the length of skin—a fire that leaves its mark.
She speaks of nights tangled with bodies and the raw words
that spill between them, in those hours when flesh meets flesh
and takes nothing back when it goes;
hours where pleasure stirs—mouths, hands, skin on skin—
awakening what was forgotten, what was always tender.

She knows I love her, that I crave the heat of her kiss, her body
curved toward some perfect edge that my fingers ache to trace—
fearless across every plane of this divine canvas, sin
signed into the depths of my gaze, laid bare like a curtain
drawn back, my touch an invitation whispered to the gods of desire,
who lodge their fire in my blood, my wanting like a volcano
erupting, breaking open, becoming one—her body and mine,
both slick with the salt of ourselves.