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By darwin Date: 2006 Apr 20 Comment on this Work [[2006.04.20.18.09.14935]] |
| I remember your skin, the textures beneath my hands. The scars as they rise like Braille over your parchment body. Your skin has grown dry from the dark winter, flaking like Micah breaking away from itself. I remember this, without feeling them between my palms. My fingers as they caress your knuckles that have grown larger with your age. From the countless hours and loads you have carried, lifted. The ones on your shoulders that you still do. But I can taste you, now, the soft feel of your tongue as it plays against mine. Your kisses, that start softly, and then more adamant as your body presses itself into me. I wonder how our bodies do not defy gravity, for their need seems to be an edict unto itself at times. That the days would stop their perpetuation if you and I were not in it. My bed, just another place to sleep without you in it. But with you, a sanctuary, some place to fall when the tide comes in. Though dark water rounds against us, and the waves seem to sometimes collide, I will not let go. You belong in the places that I call home. In the memories that bring laughter and sometimes pain. But you are the timbers that have built this house; you are the mortar that lays the stone. Sometimes you are the fire that roars steadfastly against coming the cold. And I wish that you could see that now, and when years have past, and time has worn down our bodies. That I will always come to you, whether in memory, or in another life. I will always remember you and come to you. |