hearts tapping against skin with their primal Morse codes,
it’s a message that can’t be stopped or hurried along,
the translation is even more simple than we think.
The rhythm fills our lungs with one another,
I wish I could keep holding your oxygen in
as if it’s become solid matter,
something I could fold like a note
to smooth out later and absorb line by line.
But it’s not meant to be touched,
studied down to the root and charted.
I learn to let go, to exhale
and take you in again,
the expelled heat of a body
isn’t all that we are inside.
It’s just a breath from a moment after love has been made,
after the primal rush where we cannot tell
if we are ravenous creatures or spirits entwined.
The skin we glide along,
this silken fire I’ve breached
with a throbbing column
of muscle and nerves
that you contour around,
helplessly clenching.
It’s a dance beyond our human translations,
even when I wish I could chart the exact sensations,
the escalation swaying us between bliss and oblivion.
I learn to let go when our floods
unleash into and through you again.
This expelled ecstacy isn’t all that we are,
it’s just a moment, beings releasing
messages read with the lens
where we hold all of our love inside.
