the geography between us when parting,
when our words unintentionally carve cold spaces
that can trace a dark side we just found the existence of.
Places left scorched and unattended,
I try to remember what burned there,
what bound lonely flesh too closely to tell apart.
Maybe I need the tension between us,
like invisible cables tightening,
pulling us by our needy pores,
I’m on the brink of something nameless each time.
The place between kindling and smoldering embers.
There are clouds in your eyes that I cannot see past,
distant bellows that tremor through our sleep,
whispers in a stranger’s cadence,
perhaps a composite inside you
of the longings I’m still trying to read.
Ones that seem cold at first,
touching alien dimensions before
memory’s floods still your eyes on mine,
maybe I need the tension fuming
from our pores when motion ceases.
I’m on the brink of something nameless each time,
the drift between need and claiming another.
We were inside each other before we even knew
that there could be no turning back,
so stay wrapped around me,
deafen me with the thunder sealed
within your chest until it becomes
the only echo I’ll recall when you’re gone
Because I will only be able to entirely
map your absence in time,
by the dark geography swelling between us,
where words are able to scorch where hands cannot.
Where I remember what fires bound us
too closely to tell apart.
