Lay with me once more.
I won't speak a word,
Just enfold you and recount
The familiar heat and breath;
Feel the softness of your silent
Grace, and feel that blissful fire
Feed warmth inside and out.
We need not speak
Of the rough edges of our past.
We don't have to dissect
Whether it goes beyond this.
I am tired of words,
And their exhaustive nature.
They never complete feeling.
I'll come to your low-lit room,
Shut the door and open up
The last bit of me you'd want.
I burn nightly for this blistering
Dream. I catch fever from thought.