You're slowly emerging
from a womb of steam,
it rises from your raw skin
like mist hesitantly fleeing.

I want to know how that feels,
to naturally cling to every pore,
to swim through your tangled hair,
slide along you as a fever that will cool
but spends an entire lifetime burning.

I envy the fresh clear droplets
that vibrate in the soft 
hollows of your neck,
every intricate pulse for us,
all of your wetness for me.

Closer to you now,
body moving of its own accord,
lungs pull you in and hold on,
as if I could fold and keep
the sweet vapors from your pores.

I know what will soon 
bloom between us here.

I can see the quick shimmer,
your eyes flashing between helplessness
and something else I can barely name
let alone touch the mysterious shape of,
something screaming from the soul to take you.

As the remnants of steam still hover,
a thick column of flesh will
stretch you from the inside,
drenching me in fragrant slick nectar.

My teeth against your craned neck,
whether I mark you there or within,
the evidence will clearly remain
that you belong to me as I to you.

The eruption is so sudden, 
thick spurts of my essence
greedily soaked within you,
squeezing and claiming,
depths drenched and sated.

We're slowly emerging
from a deep womb of heat,
the mist rises from us 
like a frail connective tissue.

But I know what will
always bloom between us.