these unnamed regions in me are like roots
that need to coil around and stay inside you,
our bodies sheltered in the aftershocks tremoring
through our exhausted and satisfied forms.
There is no fall after going over this edge,
no blackness swallowing us whole,
only the stillness of a bedroom,
our warmth hovering in the air.
The candles we lit blew out during our joining,
flames fleeing the delicate tips of thin wicks,
but in the same way your eyes burrow
into my heart without a word.
I need no light to glide along your body
when you call out for me in the dark,
your breath and voice are the only beacons needed.
Something in me doesn’t want to let go after,
these unnamed regions in me whispering that
our frames are meant to stay wrapped together,
meant to linger in the stillness following our shattering release.
There is no fall after going over this edge,
only bodies trembling from aftershocks,
rippling below the skin,
tremoring through our every bone.
The fires we lit in one another when joining
can now rest patiently as waiting embers,
the release fleeing from us as a delicate dance,
but in the same way your eyes burrow
into my heart without a word.
We need no sound to hold each other
as these aftershocks begin to settle,
breath and skin the only beacons we need.
Something in us doesn’t want to let go,
the unnamed regions in us saying we are
meant to be still after going over the edge,
meant to stay close after these tremors
finish rippling through our content forms.
