Electric

The night hums low beneath my skin,
a quiet storm about to begin — 
not thunder loud, but something tight,
a pulse that flickers into light.

I touch the dark, it answers back,
a silver spark along the black,
like whispered volts that trace my veins
and dance in soft, unspoken chains.

You stand there — close, but not the same,
a living wire, a hidden flame,
and every glance becomes a charge
too wild, too sudden to enlarge.

No switch to stop, no fuse to break,
just currents only we can make,
a language built from shock and glow — 
a silent surge we both now know.

And in that flash, so sharp, so quick,
the world goes still — then turns electric.