The only division between us is the parting of our lips,
the hovering of lingering fingertips,
the hesitation of tongues unsure of where to go next,
the distance of arching backs peeling away from wrinkled sheets--
the radius of lust and elastic potential.
The only senses of time known to us are intervals of forever, divisions of eternity and multiples of infinity,
the hours between blinks shared from sleepy eyes into sleepy eyes,
mornings spent counting freckles,
measuring the weight of vertebrae wound around each other--
stacking flesh on top of flesh, expanding territory.
The wait between see you next and you're here now,
the seconds streaming together years of my life
that suddenly make sense,
semblances of me strung together with fragments of you--
a collage of existence, a quilt of strewn feelings.
The destiny realized by legs intertwined,
walking towards oblivion under glimmering reflections of our stardust
entities, celestial beings beating carnally to the drumming
of my nails on your back and your grip on my neck.
The only place we've needed is the space big enough
for unapologetic desire and met expectations,
the mountain of affection, each smile straining towards the summit of
yes, more, more,
the bubble around our fantasy, protected from the gritty graveling
of bitter lovers lost, surrounding us with crippling cliches,
the escape of home, mine or yours, ours whenever,
the simple joy of leg room unrestricted, our mess sprawled like Picasso
before us, looking at what we've done to each other--
the masterpiece of two souls lighting their lives on fire, burning the world away with friction,
then blowing it out with suffocating, smothering satisfaction.
