Piercing the heart goes much deeper
than slipping into your body,
there are endless depths there to show,
if you are all skin wrapped around bone,
I'm the marrow filling each gulf,
the synapses translating billions of signals.

Some are fragile whispers to coax you
but some roar through your blood,
turning you to pure heat,
charged echoes and fiery rivers beneath.

You do not entirely burn, though,
because we cannot be reduced
to smoldering embers,
a pyre's aftermath.

Ours is a flame that remains mostly hidden,
only visible when it ripples
along and between our flesh.

Piercing the heart goes much deeper
than being locked inside you,
there are many recesses to fill,
if you are the tangible,
let me be the details that frame you.

The words that can send shivers through you,
the aching silence before my name
blooms from between your wet lips,
the way you succumb to my touch
and trust these fingertips to become your gravity,
the axis to guide your breath against mine
when our velocity leads to an inevitable crash.

You do not shatter from the impact, though,
because we cannot be reduced
to thrusts and seared pores,
the aftermath of spent bodies.

Ours is a flame that spreads gently at first,
only visible when our eyes silently plead
for the other to take and consume us,
to pierce this heart as no one else can
before marking me as your territory.