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Arcs

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If mystery is the greatest aphrodisiac,
some vague ecstacy that looms
somewhere in the distance,
then you are still intravenous to me.

Flowing through my veins unseen for now,
your image perched on a horizon,
on mountains capped with a winter
I've come to long for more by the day.

Whatever particles hang in the air
or whatever luminescence frames us,
you're the touchstone to hold
and make me remember the sparks
that burst from your hands.

The feel of a patient fluttering
buried within your chest begins
to beat like wings against me,
the sound is my name on your breath,
just written in an ancient language
that all beings know through flesh.

It always comes back to you,
the inevitable siren in my blood,
to call you just a muse isn't enough
to capture what you've instilled
into all I create and need to know.

If we really do feel one another
like a star's radiant glow from afar,
bending and curving light inside
until it arcs into a constellation,
then mine would only lead to you.

Occupying my every vein,
flowing through the heavens,
pressed completely to you
no matter what direction I turn.

Whatever spirits hold the air
and frame who we really are
solely by what we've done,
nothing makes me forget

The sparks that burst
from your gentle hands,
the fires that we wait for
each year before winter.

The feel of some vague ecstasy,
some mythological aphrodisiac
just isn't enough for us,
you and I need immediacy

A touchstone to drape our bodies along
to know the true luminescence of two
distant stars inevitably crossing.

And every cool wind that the atmosphere
suddenly relinquishes to quell the season's heat,
if only for one beautiful moment in the dark night,
every drop of rain that's an ancient tongue
speaking your name against my flesh,
makes me long for you more each day.

It always comes back to you,
if the sparks lie dormant inside,
biding time until the axis tilts
and leaves begin to descend
until they blanket cold earth

Then remember that you aren't a muse,
I am no architect that can construct
a perfect recreation of what you
have so deeply instilled within me,
each creation's sum of lines
and carefully culled letters

Are only stars that make up a
whole radiant constellation,
a single arc of light collected
from the sparks that burst
only in your hands.
Published 
Written by elliotlacey31
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