What Will Become?

We are encased in the entanglement of souls,

like vines we wrap and knot, into one another,

the affection from my beloved, a part

of a universal experience,

we breathe each other in until there is no more

space in our lungs, no more space in my mind,

blurring the line between presence and existence

I squeeze your heart and stroke your eyes three times over, 

one for each eye, maybe a fourth for good luck. 

But our mark will not be heard when we are hidden 

behind the moon and have bled into the ground

only a hum amongst shrieks, I add to the noise

ever-present in lone shadows, but barely there

what will become of the lovers who fell

and hid lust under rocks when beauty had boiled? 

Perhaps I will stain her unregimented grace

harnessed ever so slightly when we get lost

in the folds of our skin, clinging desperately 

to one another for fear of falling apart,

for there is no other explanation

but a gift from her, the mother rooted in our core 

a glimpse of what we cannot see or explain,

only for a moment, when love has bloomed 

as the daffodils do during the height of spring. 

But as the daffodils decimate and die 

so will our love, now wilted and withered 

I search for that fleeting moment of ecstasy,

where every touch held a taste of your golden tongue

painting my body in stripes of raw sunlight,

but our grasp on forever was only temporary,

and so we dissolve.