R e a c h
The body. Perhaps a creature of it's own, seperate from the mind. A being of pure need, want... lust. It clamours for satisfaction, gratification, borne out of singular, nuclear synapsis. And the mind... it takes it in like a voyeur, a depraved watcher with no real concern of the outcome. Because the mind is above it, a dictator with little reflection in it's adoring public. And when discovered, you're already too far gone....
Your skin, it is always so warm to me. You're a creature I don't understand, producing these life-rythms and soft breaths, pulling my hands towards you with such little concentration. It's a magic I don't posess, merely reflected on my own irregular limbs. I am beautiful by proximity, body closed under yours, the light that shines there for us alone. I cannot reproduce that late in the night, alone and drunk on the memories. Close my eyes, a soft scent of where you've been... a flash of heat across my body with a recollection of the passion once cherished. Haunted, like a person possessed with these glimpses of beauty, revelling like a devilish child and purloined ice cream. It's as if I could lick these memories, roll my tongue over them and press them into my being. These memories will carry forever, steady in those recesses of brain, so much like a vault.
But back to those lines... the lines of curves, whisper of your soft skin. These words are nothing when faced with the rapid flutter of breath, the thin scratch of nails dragged oh-so-carefully. Indelably, you've left your epitaph on my stomach, tapped out your future on my ribs. Each twist, pulling in and close, drawing out and down, it forever binds something that mere flesh could not reproduce. It can merely faulter in playing out the scene, our bodies blind actors tumbling across a sensual stage. The sheets are curtains, drawn so carefully over precious artifacts, you and I. We are canvas, we are gold, liquid and melting and blending here in this. Something of rare beauty, of breathless esteem. This is beauty, this is revered.
And all the physical, the firing pin shivers you send, all this encompassed in the emotion. The raw feeling, voices so thick yet gauzy... those words forever running through my mind. A painting of sound, colours bleeding like the most idealistic symphony. You are my dream, your words tangled in my hair, your teeth pressing into my flesh, driving you into my heart. Speak not, hush now, but this you have given me. A memory frozen in in both my brain, an amazing soul frozen in my heart. To speak of the details, to soil them in heavy clouded words would be the true deceit, for it's just for us that this memory burns. Sacred, lush... this is what they cannot see, and what we feast on in our dreams. I am yours, so completely, at just this one pristine vision. Love does not encompass the act, merely fuels it into a living creature of it's own.
The body, once a parasitic life-form, a stage for the mass reflection. You are my artist, you have turned it into an endless display of your affection. Master, a talent genius, a gracious hand brushing stars across my canvas skin. A dream within a dream, your eyes are a treasure when you're whispering in the dark. Soon the world can fade away, whatever parts do not belong to us. And soon my doubt will fade too... decaying into this new realm you have given me. My peace is not some intangible beast, but a fire-touched poem of a person, words failing as always. To you I give tomorrow... to you I give my heart.
Reach and it's yours.