There's evidence left behind,
I wish there was more
that I could hold on to.

A memory's surge is sweet,
flashing with intimate stills
that only you and I know exist,
but sometimes recollection isn't enough.

I've already curated what I can.

Your smile as I opened the door,
the intensity shimmering in your eyes
when you began to unfold before me,
the warmth that hung in the air after,
fingers still laced in your hair,
legs twined like quivering braids.

The whispers I could never take from another,
you said those words are meant for us,
to hold and guard them like a sacred pact,
the only ones I can repeat here...

"Please, don't ever let me go,
whatever happens now,
whatever we become,
don't let go."

You drifted off in my arms then,
the soft music of your oxygen,
a cycle similar to the way we joined,
pulling inside and releasing,
over and over again.

I soon followed you into sleep's dark hush,
already beginning to keep the promise
I made to never let you go.

There's evidence left behind
when you leave in the morning.

Several departed strands
from your silky locks on the pillows,
a warm imprint of your shape
where you curled close into me.

Your scent clinging to claimed territory,
echoes of a center quickened and reshaped,
the rhythmical glide through crevices
others could never find in us.

I wish there was more
that I could hold on to,
but you've given me
something beyond tangibles.

Even if recollection doesn't seem like enough,
these intimate stills flash only through you and I,
the exchange tethering us together
closer than any contract skin can sign,
until you are near me again,
the words I gave you in return repeat...

"I promise, whatever happens now,
whatever unfolds between us,
I won't ever let you go."