Floating

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Her soul is silk beneath me, and I cradle her heat like holding on to the essence of a fire. She is all that is right with the world. I can taste the flame on her face and I kiss each breath from her crimson lips, knowing full well those teeth could bite at every second. Her scent is passion and draws me in further to each moment, heart clutched between shaking fingers giving sweet subtle offerings every time I exhale. Her areola have me fixed to this spot, staring into the eyes of a cobra, more afraid to look away as if they would vanish into a puff of smoke. It's the credible threat of future, that somewhere in the sunrise is five minutes without her and it cracks my ribs open to steal its prize. I am left rendered like fat, all the essence boiled out of me by the heat of our exchange, drying out from the millimeters distance between skin. Drooling in anticipation of the next few words to leak from her, again I am caught unaware by the cold calloused distance of speech, that she may own thoughts different than mine or that perhaps we could even be different creatures at all. I could take a knife to the moments between her heartbeats... I could melt and let go of all form just to plant myself into this rush of oxytocin. And yet I can't speak. I can't say stay. The walls of my heart have left an edge to my tongue that cuts all I kiss, sharpened on my stone heart, fossilized by years of cold earth and hollow beds. I can't even mutter a petition. And behind my eyes is the heat and sting of goodbye...