The night would soon fall
and it could be the last time
my hands roam your body.

It always begins without words,
the chilly wind through your hair,
fleeting sunlight through those silk spindles,
a nearly still frame of concentrated fire
burning in separate beautiful strands.

A murmur rises from somewhere within that flame 
as my hands cup your soft face like the shape 
of a glowing tear when I moved in 
to taste your neck and reach lower.

You slip into a moan that's almost inaudible
and I realize that you're helplessly slick 
before fingertips even contact and trespass 
into that velvety labyrinth.

I knew very little of this world then, 
only the way you would tremble when 
my thumb discovered the fleshy hidden bud, 
it seemed to be the epicenter of all bliss
that I've longed to possess the language to impart. 

But I know something in you roared to life,
some revenant we barely understand the anima of,
a heat gathered between us for so long 
that we were almost scared to release it.

It was almost too quick that night 
and I only get a few moments
of discovering you beyond a body,
the wind through your flowing locks,
chilled air whispering that this intensity
is never meant to last too long. 

That's part of why we hold it so close.

And it soon ends without words,
the slow churning fire inside
reaching its concentrated fever pitch,
fingers flooded in a feral rush of nectar,
I watched your face in the gathering darkness
and that would be the only secret I ever kept.

That watching you was the first and only time
it felt like I saw something blooming,
like this quiet trespass would fold us 
together forever in a beautiful epicenter.

But we saw it roar to life,
some revenant we only begin
to understand long after
it's too far away to hold.

And maybe that's what we always long for,
the one night we reach into the core 
of another for the very first time,
even if the moment doesn't last long.

Even if it was never the same again.