You touch me and it's like a memory
that I have yet to make,
a nostalgia I should not yet know.

There was a word for this,
something that encapsulated 
an entire history that may be
impossible to write about.

I can feel it before your hand withdraws,
the stone that my heart will become,
the ache to be enveloped in your heat
if only for another moment,
even if we both know that's not enough.

I can hold on to the few 
days that you were here.

When you stepped out of the car
and could barely meet my eyes 
as if you were afraid that your appearance
would somehow be a disappointment to me.

I whispered before we embraced
and saw you smile for the first time.

I'll never tell what I said.

I already loved you by then.

I hope you knew that seconds later
when you melted in my arms.

I can hold on to some things.

The way our legs entwined after 
we made love and refused to move
like we were afraid to disturb something sacred,
I seem to remember that more than anything.

How the air was perfumed with our bodies,
our mutual heat imprisoned beneath blankets,
how your eyes can seem so distant at times
but would inevitably soften upon my face.

I wish I knew what you saw then,
what illuminated those secretive orbs
and said what words are powerless to describe.

You pressed your cheek to mine 
and it's like a memory I have yet to make,
a nostalgia I should not yet know.

There was a word for this,
an entire history that may be
impossible to tell or remember before
our hearts faced a dangerous symmetry.

I can feel it before you pull away,
everything that I will miss,
how your skin felt painfully familiar
even during that first time we touched,
I knew that once would never be enough.

I can hold on to the few days here,
the years where you were all I knew.

How a specific moonglow through curtains
lit your hair like heavenly filaments,
you were too bright to touch for a moment,
we were already rendered so raw by then,
from our beings crashing and unfolding.

When you felt the way my body shook,
when you kept me inside after
and just wrapped around me tight enough
to where I could count every heartbeat
that thundered to the tune of mine.

It's a number I'll never tell.

I hope you know

I already loved you by then.

There was a word for this,
we knew it then in our drift 
as wordless music carried
the rest of us to where
our bodies already are.

There was a word for this.

We'll never tell what it is.