You knelt by the bed when it was all over,
body perched as if near an altar
when your lips meet my temple
and said to not feel guilty.
This was only for you and me,
the way flesh scorched so truly.
And I wanted that kiss to leave a mark,
not to prove that I was branded,
it was more like I needed
proof that you had loved me.
I had more than enough, though.
You sensed something hours ago,
I was little more than hard flesh trembling
and couldn’t begin to read your eyes,
I never had to before and am sometimes
uncertain if I have ever truly
glassed a woman’s entire heart
but I knew very few things then.
The light against your skin was a flare
illuminating what would be our secret,
you cried out and it sounded like a name
from another life before me when such
a communion was a much darker act
and seems too sacred to ask about.
I knew that feral heat parted open to answer
something I’ve always needed but couldn’t quite name,
as if all I am and ever will be roared to life
when piercing this voluptuous center.
To give such a deep want any name
would be a phantom pain remaining.
And you knelt by the bed when it was all over,
I remembered your scent in that curtained room,
your hair tickling the side of my neck
and I believed the trembling wouldn’t stop
after our bodies had demanded closure.
And I found you pressing me to your breast,
a thunder resided in that beautiful cage,
it was your way of saying I’m never alone,
that your heart was screaming, too,
and to not ever feel guilty.
This was only for you and me,
the way flesh fused so truly.
And I wanted that beat to leave a mark,
not to prove that I was wanted,
it was more like I needed proof that
this would always ripple through you.
I had more than enough, though.
The way your eyes flared against mine
and how I could only move slowly after
piercing such indescribable heat
clamping around and I never wanted
to know what it would be like to let go.
To know what a phantom pain really is,
it’s the ache to be inside again.
To remember the flash that went
from whispers to joined moans
to the body becoming all that
speaks from our quickening limbs,
saying to release inside you.
You sensed the coming oblivion when
I was little more than hard flesh erupting,
I wanted to linger over the stories
that your skin could tell but that flare didn’t
last too long and I suppose prolonging it
would prove to be too much to take.
And even though I’m still not certain
if I know how to read a woman’s being
and all that sings and screams there.
It was as if you were saying
to never forget that first
rush of paralyzing bliss because some
find it unknowable in years to come.
You knelt by the bed later on
and there was one more kiss
in the silence of a cooling fever
and that was the true mark,
how you confessed in some way
that you’ll never entirely unlock from me.
The proof always lives beyond the body.
