to tell us that nothing but spirits and wolves travel,
you and I can know so much better,
we can keep it to ourselves in our own
safe corner of the earth.
Each kiss can be a secret wine upon thirsty lips,
exchanged letters within the folds of every passing second,
and our hands can know each other without light,
we can carefully read our bodies like braille.
If there are to be any sounds that travel,
I want them to be hushed,
to be barely audible the way whispers are
moments before we’re pulled out of dreams.
The wind’s familiar gentle caress across your cheek,
the fabric of your dress falling on the carpet,
and the tapping of heartbeats when
lonely skins race to collide.
When the night falls and the darkness is a sweeping
black tide of roaming spirirts and wolves,
you and I have already made a shelter here,
a safe home in the corners and folds of each other.
Each touch can be like the silent fires
disintegrating the bodies of stars,
and the only collapse we’ll know is
when I enter your aching depths with all I am.
If there will be any light created,
I want it to be blinding,
to be overwhelming beacons and explosions
swelling through your being.
The light pouring from your eyes,
travelling and replacing what has burned out
with new intricate constellations that mirror
the perfection of your need gazing into mine.
When the night ends and the darkness lifts
away these spirits and ravenous wolves,
you and I can still be one,
home in the corners and folds of one another.
