You don't need to say it all yet,
tell me what you find there now.

When I sharply inhale your name,
fold it deep into the lungs,
the heart's unique signature,
until the letters are a chant
growing far beyond itself.

With skin as soft as moonlight, 
bones beneath rearranging,
rising along the smooth iliac crest, 
pulse singing against the clavicles. 

Tell me what it means now. 

To be kindled with a lone touch,
before this tongue traces everything,
beauty marks and forgotten freckles,
tastes how your skin suddenly ripples
like rain against asphalt in a summer storm,
a world surging with nature's lashes.

I tell you what I find there.

Lips tarrying at mine,
savoring the moment before
we are locked into a deep kiss,
electrons swimming in tandem
between us as if in one cage,
but animals always find an escape.

You have to know what 
I will find there.

When I hold in perfumed air
mingled with the raw desire
radiating from your open body,
so perfect and sacred,
almost unknowable.

Your eyes were more than the forest,
they were the ocean as well,
shimmering in the deep night,
beautifully torched depths,
a turbulent womb in dim shores,
the unseen universe contacting,
exploding all around me.

And I could hear everything afterwards.

I could hear echoes of thunder and murmurs
of snowfall blanketing the bare earth,
sweetened leaves swirling in the wind,
dancing among starlit remnants,
all seasons surging within your currents.

Your face pressed against my chest
and you already knew all of this,
you sensed something beyond its pangs,
beyond the phantom movement of bodies,
beyond morse code tapping away music
in the gathered darkness no longer 
begging to just be understood.

I don't have to say anything.

You don't need to tell me everything yet.

I know that you love me.