to disavow my heart once,
beating with a rage
that time cannot uncouple.
Miming what motions we believe make love,
what language unpeels the forgotten cry
of where we begin and then end in whispers,
the deepening moans in between.
Our soundtrack plays in no particular tongue,
but this one is the most universal,
a familiar spirit that dwells in the nectar,
the open exploration that seals us as one.
I believe the layered stories,
the intentions in your every touch
inhabit the precise second
you sear through my senses.
Drinking in your scent as you advance,
I have no defense left now
against the concurrent motion
of our atoms forever crashing.
I think I have always been sailing towards you,
merged with the ghosts we fled from,
some remnant of love humming
the abstract nouns and verbs only we knew.
Forgive my flawed pacing last time.
I felt you move through me
to disavow my heart once,
beating in complex codes
my rage could not hold on to.
Miming what motions we believe make love,
what language unpeels the receding gasp,
something like a forgotten chant escapes
when there’s no evidence left
of we end or ever begin.
Our soundtrack is subtlety,
lips pressed to your neck,
a stolen moment of silk skin,
billions of crisscrossed nerves sing
a charge to eclipse all else in the world.
I believe the story we still etch,
the way our hands and legs lace together,
inhabit the unseen tissue that binds us,
that spears through hearts
when they once knew better.
A name fleeing fast from
my tongue’s tip as you advance,
I have absolutely no protection left,
the ambrosia lost once tasted.
I think I’ve always been sailing towards you
as a remnant of initial resistance lowered,
so soothed and secured but never
say that we have been innocent here,
we’ve always neared an abstract oblivion.
So forgive my flawed pacing last time.
I can feel you move through me
to disavow what a heart promised,
what friends crack in careless hands,
beating through endless textures
I still need to inhabit and understand.
