Begins and Ends with You

I want you.

Those are the words my
fingertips reach for first.

I want you.
Undeniably.
Like the moon wants the night—
waiting for the sun to set
so she can finally be seen.
She was always there,
she simply needed the right conditions
to be noticed.

I want you to take me somewhere quiet
like you had once before.
Dark.
Secluded.
Warm.

I want all of your edges,
all your armor,
all your precision and proofs
to lock and barricade the door
behind you.

I want to lay my softness
and curves
on your unguarded edges—
like a delicate bird
feeding from your palm.

I want to fall into you
and you into me
so deeply
that we question our separateness.

Even still, I want your edges.
All of them—
even if they bruise me.

I want to get lost in a metaphor
that is ours and ours alone—
a metaphor so particularly ours
that it becomes illegible
to anyone who attempts to read it.

I want a privately shared language
that is so explicit
that if anyone could translate our scripts
they would blush from embarrassment.

Only then,
door barricaded with precision,
curves pressed against edges,
under the cover of metaphor,
in an uninhibited release—
I want all my sensations
to cave—

I want you.