My touch will ask your body
to impart all of its secrets,
not just to answer the ache
that simmers between parting legs.

I want my fingertips to roam
and map every scar that I find,
trace the cicatrices in a way 
that tells you how my skin will always 
be starving for the feel of yours.

To go beneath your wounds,
the deepest ones where no tissue
has been woven to heal yet,
the pains that have absolutely
nothing to do with blood.

So my touch will soon speak,
first to the shape of your bare body,
a sensuous geography throbbing
with its endless stories and secrets,
not just the simmering ache below
that opens up to be answered,
that is driven to be understood.

But I want my fingertips to travel,
to seek the depths beyond skin
and map every intricacy unearthed,
to trace both the glowing aura
and the cicatrices in a way that tells
how my essence screams to be forever
braided with the marrow of your own.

To go far beneath the wounds,
beneath the deepest terra where
no healing tissue can be woven,
the pains that have absolutely 
nothing to do with our earthly marks.

And my touch will speak this and more,
not merely answering the fiery ache
that is driven to be understood,
to be charted with cicatrices in a way
that makes our cells tie completely
together as if we're a living thread.

To go far beneath all tissue
when gripped in a trembling release
to truly tell you how my being will 
always long to be merged with yours.