Rhyanna Watson

Arch & Ache
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I begin in stillness—
hips heavy,
legs open like breath
spilling through the floor.

My spine curves slow—
cat to cow,
a ripple of muscle
you’d trace with your teeth
if you were closer.

Hands press down,
firm, grounding,
but my gaze?
It lingers
like silk falling from bare skin.

In cobra, I rise—
chest leading,
throat exposed,
a quiet dare
to taste what stretches open
with heat.

Each pose is a pulse—
a moan held in muscle,
a secret blooming
in the space between
my arch
and your ache.

I don’t perform—
I offer.
Slow splits,
hips rocked back
until everything softens
to yes.

I move not to be watched
but to be felt
in the back of your throat,
long after the mat cools.

2 months ago | [YT] | 4,683