It's like your fingertips,
turned into lips and every sweet caress,
would transfer words of passion
through my skin.
Every time, i felt your spirit pour into me,
it was like i had found a new religion,
and you were my place of worship,
and our hands were the worshippers.
It's ok to watch the stars and wonder,
who they're shooting at,
for how could such a burning wish
fall so silently through the sky
and never land at my front door.
So as i lie here and i know there is time,
and that time will come,
i know that time is fleeting and forthcoming,
with the words you led into my mouth
through sweet rough kisses,
that want to tell me,
that we have all the time in the world.
To think that feelings could take on,
such an amazing allegory of stars,
rushing through my bloodstream,
as you lie with me, in a broken bed,
and i wonder if i should learn from,
my, previous, mistakes -
but stars burn brightly,
and only for such a short time,
so i took your mouth and made it holy,
and held your prophetic words in my throat,
grasped your fingers to count our congregation
who witnessed the sheen of our skin.
Seeing is believing some would say,
but
faith is taking tongues and carving words into crevices,
that even black holes wouldn't dare,
to challenge.
So take your fingers and draw on my skin,
and make me shine for you,
and we'll speak only words you can understand,
and pour, into me,
a soliloquy,
a mounting crescendo,
of bursting, burning, bright, exploding stars....