clinging to the sky’s cold faithful gravity every night
while I gaze and chart what makes you,
any form you embody.
Any metaphor shaped around you,
all the arts you can be expressed through,
I have to know, study what can be touched
and learn every intangible essence of.
If you’re music is the melody of us in all I see,
this composition is written between the humming of our lips meeting,
sealing so the notes touch nothing else and I become the
chord in you no other can strike,
the name you speak no matter who ignites your desire.
Only I know the colors and oils painting the portrait of your body,
the messages that have been meticulously brushed onto the canvas.
Any identity you wish,
all the history that had marked you,
I have to be inside of,
know every sway between the dirty and sweet
essence of what makes you.
If you’re curiosity,
I can be any fetish you’re driven to explore.
If you’re the sub,
then I’m the Master,
the command to your loving submission.
The spike embedded in your leather,
every tooth of an opening zipper,
the keys to the cuffs closed around
your delicate wrists and ankles.
The costumes you wear,
roles you wish to play.
I’ll eventually strip their layers
away piece by piece,
feeding the blooming heat and tingles spreading
through the more I time what teases you.
The more I learn, the more I have to know
about what touches and ignites,
what essences come together to make you.
