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.
— "and I, yours"
