What edge of you am I not aware of by now? 

I want you to show me
how to travel much deeper, 
no inked sentiments shouting 
to the entire world of our story. 

We crashed in a more beautiful way, 
quietly unfolded in the private
intricacies of our own hearts.

And I can't tell you where I go 
when surrounded by your depths,
how to describe such human fevers
where blood calls to blood.

Where souls call to souls.

I can't tell you where I go after
our bodies have roared this way,
almost with a primal vengeance,
something from before language,
before words described fire.

What edge of you am I not aware of by now?

I want you to just envelope me,
never stop coaxing me deeper,
no inked sentiment displayed
can ever translate that slick
fissure of silken flesh.

When drawn to the intricate
mysteries of the female body,
we will always unfold 
in the most beautiful way.

And I can't tell you where I go 
when surrounded by your depths,
where gentle moans become akin to 
soft winds lost in the rumble of thunder,
in the most human of our fevers.

Where blood calls to blood,
where souls call to souls.

I can't tell you where I go after
our bodies have bellowed this way,
after kisses showered like furious rain,
memories of your primal scent 
still sweet upon these wet lips,
something from before language.

What edge of you am I not aware of by now?

I don't want to speak and ruin this
silence we slip into beyond love made,
no ink or chord to display to the world
the entirety of our own story.

Even though I can't tell you 
exactly where I go after 
your skin is flushed with crimson,
the most human of our mutual fevers.

Even though I can't tell you
exactly where I go after
you safely drift to sleep with
a piece of me claimed inside you,
our limbs entwined like ancient roots,
you'll understand the way I truly unfold.

Where blood calls to blood,
where souls call to souls.