sometimes your kiss is a brief, beautiful sonnet,
carefully chosen words to pull me in,
lips chasing one syllable after the next as
our silhouettes dissolve, and coalesce into a new being,
this entwining knowing no measure or restraint,
beyond shining daylight and the nocturnal mazes
that sundown will shroud the land.
But here, we are any and all shapes and sizes,
close enough to be caressed in the palm of your hands,
the bending, clasping, and opening of your legs,
the smooth roads my fingertips and tongue navigate.
Your body tells a new story when we’re joined,
sometimes your dragging nails and the rhythmic waves
of your hips are a handwritten novella,
intimate lines you could never voice to me but your
arms pull me inside to what unfolds next,
what sweet prose is inked as I pull your hair gently
like a delicate silk cord to bring the curve
of your ear to my lips to whisper.
How this entwining will never know borders or questions,
silhouettes hiding between the sun and hanging particles of dust,
between the lightless mountains and sands we’ve crossed.
But here, we’re all continents and shifting seasons,
all tremors through the ground and sweeping fires
that shake and torch the other,
the distant quakes like our moans,
the scorching, erupting volcanic fissures
are the release we share.
The story our bodies will tell.
