The falling of bliss

I feel you tremble beneath my curious hands.
Not with Ecstasy like most, but with something similar to fear.
You've been hurt before, and you're afraid.
 "I've got scars from.....,"
You trail off. You don't have to finish the statement.
I know. I've got those scars too. The ones that pryin' eyes inquire about.
I want to tell you, that I've got them too, but I don't.
Instead I resume tracing the trials and tribulations of your life with my fingertips.

When really, admist the yellow glow of a bright outside light, I wish to kiss them and tell you that your scars.
Your scars.
Make you who you are. And that those are the most beautiful parts of who we as people are.
But in that same thought process, I wish my kisses could make them vanish.
So you won't have to see the looks of prying eyes again.
Those looks of questions we as suffering people, don't wish to answer.
Silence falls in the air around us. 

Two hurt souls, desperate for the want and need to open up and be free.
I kiss your forehead.
And admist the strange glow, I see you smile.
My mind is whirring with inquiries. 
Am I the reason behind the smile?
Or are your inner gears working like mine are too?
I smile back but I'm not sure if you see it.
My once curious hands fall short and intertwine with your fingers. 
I squeeze and you squeeze back.
 Oh the profoundness of silence!
I hear your heart pound through your back.
Can you hear mine too?
Millions of milliliters of blood pumping to a fractured organ.
Our hands are still entwined but I can't help but wish for our scars to be entwined as well. 

I finally speak but my throat is dry. Why I cannot be sure.
"I understand," 
I whisper into your ear. You don't pry. 
I think under the glow of the 3 am light, there is a sudden clarity that.
F
A
L
L
S.
I still wish nothing more then to continue to trace your flesh with my fingertips.
They are no longer curious however, but content.
I won't pry.
Remember, I know how the prying eyes and scornful words feel.
They hurt.
Our lips finally lock and we both smile.
This my friends is what's known as a bittersweet moment.

Bitter from the scars we have, and the wounded organ that still beats in
Both our chests.
Yet sweet from the silent understand we reached.
Against the yellow glow of night and the teal of the bed sheets that were once used for acts of.
Raunchy discourse.
But now I think will forever encase the gaze of Prying eyes and once curious hands. 

 Bliss 
F
   A
       L
          L
             S.