7h (edited) • Share Your After Dark Poetry
Midnight Confession
The night strips everything honest
no daylight, no distance, no disguise.
Just breath, tension,
and the way wanting
can make silence feel alive.
I feel you before your hands reach me,
like heat rising off a hidden flame.
Slow, dangerous, patient
the kind of fire
that doesn’t beg,
just waits to be fed.
But passion ain’t only skin.
It’s ache.
It’s memory.
It’s loneliness finally finding
something warm enough to hold.
So come closer,
and don’t just want me lightly.
Want me true.
Like the dark was made
for this kind of hunger
and this kind of confession.
By Jason Strickland
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Midnight Confession
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