Flesh yearns to find its voice first
before recognizing unguarded need,
willing itself to learn the language,
but your body told stories before me.

And although men and women
have staked their unique claims on you,
have cautiously circled one another
as bloodthirsty conquerers.

A part of you always belongs to me.

It may be something as faint 
as whispers among the storm,
your scent carried across
some undefinable divide,
a lone spark signalled through
a panorama of glittering stars.

That's enough for me to hold on to.

I know it's dangerous for us to want more,
that we should be grateful for whatever
flicker of love has temporarily touched us.

And I pushed myself to know the language,
to read the stories that your skin can tell,
from every lifeline along your palms
to the secrets held in curves and valleys
that others will one day go on to claim 
to be the sole discoverers of.

But a part of me will always lie within you.  

And maybe it was too much to take in,
maybe you are too far away to hold,
and now everything arrives in fragments
as if through a beautiful kalediscope.

The light in your eyes radiates
as a blooming rainbow until
I never remember the colors,
only what the glow felt like,
only the warmth of a constant star.

Music plays in the shadows left behind,
humming its ghostly song until 
I can only remember one frail note 
that touched me across this undefinable divide.

But flesh still yearns to be 
more than left raw with desire,
raw with the marks we made,
most of which can never be seen.

And although it may be something
subtle as a line you've penned,
as faint as a brief flash of my face
your fingertips met within a dream,
or the hunger in your voice
when you can't be denied.

A part of me always stays inside.

That's enough for me to hold on to.

I'll always belong to you.