I can always read your skin...
But I want you to first be a whisper
soothing us in the deep dark night,
I want the closing proximity to ache
until your body begins to scream.
Until that slow heat rises and you remember
the embers which continuously smolder
in the absence of my touch,
the constant note of desire
threading through all that you are.
It becomes a harbinger of flesh crying out.
And nothing is holding me back,
you know when I am hungry,
you know when I grow cold.
But there is never loneliness here,
only longings that will burst
like flares of violent starlight
dancing throughout irises.
And I can always read your skin,
the fiercest devotion bloomed
within our yearning.
Whether the hues flush in lamplights
as my fingertips begin to reach out,
or when you are a flash against shadows,
aglow when we are tangled
into a singular naked form.
I want you to first clench harder than ever
to finally remind me of who I really am,
I want your nails to rake deeper,
write a new language onto me,
carve a map into this flesh
that no other can hope to follow.
Until the signature you have clawed
suddenly makes me pin you down,
breathing in the perfume between
your parted thighs where more stories
write their messages in the dark.
I could linger over these pores,
speak about the myths encased
in this searing nexus of skin forever
as I devour the most mysterious nectar.
It is a harbinger of how we will cry out.
And nothing is holding me back,
you know when I am hungry,
you know when to silence it all
by pulling me deep inside.
There is nothing forsaken here
as we writhe faster and faster,
no longer able to deny or prolong
the closure that our bodies demand.
I can always read your skin...
The pursuit has to run deeper than that,
you are more than something to map,
you are the glyphs and runes
of a lost language finally made whole.
You are gooseflesh and flares of heat in valleys
that fingertips decode like intricate Braille,
I have to know your body with my own,
unforgiving as we seek the other out.