oxygen in and reach for me;
that uncertain fraction of a second where your lungs
ache and the quickening race that is your heart floods
each vein beneath your skin like
The grazing of ancient plates under the earth before
all we know begins to shake.
It’s the many places we cannot see beyond or into
that drive us the most and those are the places in
you where I want to make a home,
the places concealed like lovely mysterious artifacts
your body and heart encase.
They can be unearthed and delicately touched but never
named because there are no true titles,
no words for what moves us the most,
for what draws us close with a
precise unknowable gravity.
I want to live in the space where the bedroom’s dim light
splashes along the curve of your hip when you curl closer,
that blink of time when your hair spills around your shoulder
like a soft and fluttering dark curtain.
I want to be the second where faint static sparks from
the friction of hair and skin that’s merely a tease
of the electricity thrumming inside.
It’s the many elements and energies we cannot see
beyond or know the true shapes of that drives me the
most and becomes the home we make when joined together,
encased in blankets and delicate touches
That unravel and bind us but are never named because
there are no incantations needed,
no words that move me the way you can when
I live in the spaces inside you where I can be the precise
moment where there is nothing to you, but the second this
unknowable gravity that drew us grows beyond the artifacts we encase,
becomes the key we both clutch and refuse to be separated from
the home we reached to make.
