I'll find my way back home to you,
no barrier lying between our communion.

The first touch of winter air
meets your soft fair skin,
lamplight faintly washes over
your form in a snapshot.

A slight curve about to overtake your lips,
the premonition of a loving smile,
but it still remains frozen in time
like flourishes of unfinished calligraphy

Everything about you tells a story.

How the summer has cooled
and I can feel you in the air
now more than ever before,
how the stars glitter tonight,
beautiful and metallic
in their unfathomable distance.

But I'll find my way back home to you,
no barrier lying between our communion.

You would gently press a fingertip to my lips
to keep me from spilling too much,
you've always loved finding ways
to communicate without a sound,
to transcribe our messages with flesh.

I would hold you closer than ever
to still the nameless inner turbulence
that you've ached to finally describe,
but what I glean is beyond words,
the most primal of interpretations.

The first wave of overwhelming warmth,
an ancient heat searing through us
from a time long before fire
ever burned through the earth.

The gasping tentative touch
where you pull me deep within,
lamplight washing over your form
as your tongue dances softly,
like flourishes of unfinished calligraphy.

Everything about the way
you taste tells a story.

How your body reads like an astral chart,
premonitions of constellations touched,
what once seemed too unfathomable to reach,
I'll patiently memorize one by one.

How winter draws ever near
and I can feel you in the air
now more than ever before,
transcribing the most subtle messages
telling me that I'll find my way home to you.

No barrier will lie between our communion