so precise that I felt as if my breath
could live in the delicate hue of your skin,
in the seconds stolen from towering moments.
I’ve always understood them in smaller pieces,
the coordinates your eyes draw me to
are still enough to convince me that these places
have existed for years as a guarded secret
Waiting to be told through
the immediacy of meeting lips.
Every touch was like grazing
the universe’s endless fabric,
we don’t truly know the sciences
that hold this all together.
It’s why we liken eyes to beautiful stars,
hearts to cresting ocean waves,
or one’s hair and natural
perfumes to blossomed flowers.
Or how a heartbeat can race against skin
and remind us of heavy rainfall,
the beat of infinite fragile drums
that break when touching the earth.
We shape these metaphors,
every combination of imagery
to describe what can be held and overwhelmed,
for what cannot be touched or seen
but still expands every reservoir inside
where our love is contained.
Your touch is that way to me
the universe’s ceaseless expansion,
filled with echoes of how I surged inside you,
in the towering moments we steal seconds from.
I’ve always understood them in smaller pieces,
in the coordinates we draw one another to.
