I'll always be the uncertainty in a liminal space known only to your feet — the one you'll always cross only to step on fragile ground. I am the kiss mark buried deep in the hollow of your throat, darling, the intoxicating Scorpio Venus hands that aim to unravel, to claim, the chase slipping off your fingers, as you still in bewilderment all the same time.
Skin me dearly, breathe me in before I go, in earnest longing; I have a bad habit of leaving — yet lingering like the scent of your brother's cigarettes.
Yet you always come back knocking at my door at midnight — and I always have waited for you, darling — I always have waited for you in strange, barely escapable hours.
This, an unveiled obscurity — an epiphany, darling. Our enigma and clarity that perhaps — perhaps you've always been mine to love.