She traces her finger across my palm, her eyes not on my hands but on me. How does she know where to go?

Line by line. I read you line by line.

I have never been felt like I am felt by you.
What exactly do you call this? I ask

Discovering you, she answers. Unearthing you.

What about my fault lines?

What about your fault lines? She keeps tracing.

Are you avoiding them?

No, she says.

I am not scared of fault lines. I am not scared of a single earthquake originating from you. As long as it's yours, I am the world ready to be shaken to her core.

You're stupid for that.
I am keeping a lot from you.
You won't love me.
You will hurt. Stop unearthing.

She says she knows, on all counts. And I am not to worry, on all counts.

And like this she dismisses my concerns methodologically. And in this way I trust her.

And in this way my trust comes to a head, and I tell her something that she wouldn't have otherwise have known.

I felt you today.

I wish I could be felt by you everyday, she answers.

So I trace my hands on her face, not avoiding anything, trying intentionally to get to the fault line, trying to get an earthquake to start in her.

But nothing shakes.

Touch the depths of my ******* soul

Fill me with the very breath of your essence

Drink me with unquenched thirst

Draw me nearer as we collide in explosive exhale



Spontaneous combustion

Like a drag of a cigarette,

take me in,

smoke me out,

consume every crevic.



Speak in different tongues,

Let my name roll off your lips in an unbirthed language

become unwound with me.

Untangled in what we both know to be authentically unmatched.




Drown in my presence

Let My arms be a safety net that diminishes every uncertainty.

fear.

doubt.

The utter, hatred, at your core.



With the beloved you are safe.

You are whole.

I will piece you back together,

Piece by broken piece  

for all of eternity.


I will wade through rivers of **** in the darkest of night.

I will be beaten by the waves of your roughest winds.

Yet,

I will stand.


I will love you through it all.



When will you see that you are my sun,

My moon

and my stars?


And I,

the universe,

That you drift in methodologically.




The formula,

the compound.

We are engrained into each other.

Twisted.

Contorted.

Bent.


I desire nothing,

but all ,


of imperfect you.