We did it all for love....

After winter's first breath exhales
like the softest phantom pain,
something brought you back to me
down in the valley where no one
remembers what we have lost,
no one remembers our names in 
slow motion corteges of bodies
and endless shimmering lights.

I may have taken it well enough
after the last time you left,
it was better to not remember
how you looked in the delicate lamplight.

The safe harbor of my small bed,
so many stories to catch up on,
our voices went from quiet confessions
to whispers verging on conspiratory,
skin soon scorched in the heated dark. 

Better to forget what you felt like 
as some secret chord called out,
filled you with music and starlight
that I always write about
but couldn't impart with my fingertips.

You'll never know how much that hurts,
being unable to reach you,
to not see as your eyes do.

That pours from a previously unknown reservoir,
sonatas hummed from an entire other life,
but you don't get to touch that.

Not yet.

This is some circle that never closes.

I've never been able to forget 
slow caresses that naturally build,
relentlessly begin to uncover
a restless fire between your thighs,
an indescribable pang awaits there,
matches a rhythm you've known all too well.

The helpless pulse in my chest you once said
felt like small terrified wings beating
or the needle of a compass endlessly spinning,
you could always sense the phantom pain there.

We reached there for love....

Better to forget this unique outline,
names and numbers that cut too deep,
the warm silhouette pulling closer
until lips seek out places I've missed,
places you've never once denied me.

You'll never know how much that hurts,
the salt and sweet of another
mapped all over your exposed skin,
to be twin flames that still burn 
with fires that torch other places.

I just wanted to always reach you.

That pours from a dark reservoir,
currents flowing from another life 
that I can't let you touch yet.

I may take it well enough in time.

It may be better to just remember
exactly what you always felt like before
a secret chord needed to be plucked
to fill you with music and starlight 
that I still know how to write about
but almost forget the glowing notes of.

Perhaps it's better to remember
the handwritten notes that remain,
confessions that whisper and fold 
into what may actually be the soul,
remember the plumes of your hair
spilled across the pillow like a dark ocean,
how spooning to me proved to you that 
some lives are inexplicably tethered together forever.

You've never been able to forget the way 
we radiated after breathless release,
relentless threads between us thrumming 
with a beat no one else can sense,
how you said my sleeping heartbeat
was soft music playing from another life
that you were finally able to touch.

You finally knew how it hurt and why.

Knew this is a circle that never closes.

That we did this all for love.