our joined, raw immediacy,
a touch to convince us
we’ll keep the dark at bay.
Wicks flicker to their end,
the room is swept in black
and instead of being stories
waiting to finally meet,
our bodies will confess everything.
And when I finally burst,
empty into your softness,
something deeper is taking place,
we’re handing over a part of ourselves
no other can claim as their own.
We’ll return to ourselves soon enough,
surrender to sleep’s beckoning tide,
led by the glimmer of stars
spilling through your eyes,
petals still spread open,
glistening and tender.
Beyond the intense swell,
collapsing into exhausted arms,
our soothed demands cast
no shadow in the afterglow.
After we confess everything,
the simmer will cool down,
still flashing through us
like sudden strobes of late
summer heat lightning.
Candlelight licking the air
before we are extinguished,
wicks flickering to an an end,
led by the final dark glimmer.
We may only have this,
our joined, raw immediacy,
handing ourselves over
in ways no other can claim.
