Everything about you becomes archived. Trying to catalog what isn't meant to be charted, codified, and quantified. But math and science, even between people, often made sense to me.

Chart the exact moment that the bloom of oxytocin flares immutable around the iris. Note the dark points of pupils contrasting. Every flush of skin, pink randomly rippling beneath the pale. Every breath inhaled and exhaled in a subconscious attempt to regulate a sudden rising of the pulse.

Breathe you in. A slight vanilla. Floral mysteries. Pure sex. Love. 

You're the air right after lightning strikes. Ion and ozone and the natural primal sweetness of the dampened earth. The raw material of the universe charged and enjoined, unseen animas entwined. 

Note the kiss.

So gentle and tentative at first. There's a center to this so magnetic and we cautiously circle it with each kiss. We accelerate. Lips part, chemical cocktails helplessly exchanged. Blood flow increases their warm red rivers contained as mouths grow forceful, more territorial. Limbic systems triggered, soundlessly firing. 

The heart drums and flutters its own rapid song when my hand cups the ample flesh housing it, caressing and massaging. The countless nerves beneath, the chambers and veins almost in my grip. It's the closest we can ever get to feeling the whole world in our hands. 

Note the heat. 

Flesh against flash, nitric oxide heightened, skin blushing more than ever. Almost clumsy at first, yet we find a wordless dance here, elegantly braiding together as hips compete to reach mutual heat. 

Note the absence of words now. 

Only a joined chorus of relieved sighs as lips below yield and part. The contrast of hard and velvety soft forever raging, temporarily compromising to confess their needs. It's the blood rush, the ancient fever pitch of crashing and pulling and submitting. And it truly is ancient, naked bodies in the dark. If one merely hears the sounds, they encompass the primal. The sound of animals fighting, crying out,  shuddering in the ecstasy of devouring, of the hunt. Predator and prey. There is no difference here. 

The desire, so natural and simple, is also something that feels beyond our grasp. It's something that's supposed to be governed by neural circuitry, complex pathways seemingly criss-crossed but remaining parallel. Communicating yet never once touching. The flow of chemicals and storms of bioelectricity completely carrying us away. 

Chart the control. 

When that all converges, muscles tighten and nerves wail in voices that are equal mirrors of pleasure and pain. In thrusting and writhing, we look out of control but our bodies know better. Tensing when necessary, lithe where needed. Even as the body seems to be on the cusp of quaking and rupturing, beneath they remain controlled machines. 

Translate the sound. 

Through all the sounds made, our names rise. Possessive incantations as if we can enrapture and snare the other's essence by invoking titles, capturing the energies many would say is the human soul. After all, there is nothing more human than the notes cried out and the embrace we share as the we exchange this explosion. The propulsive tangible release as legs tremble and slick walls furiously squeeze. Signals lighting up nerves as fireworks, hues and rainbows that radiate in your eyes and tell me everything. 

It all converges and is every song we've memorized, every laugh and tear, every dream in the womb's cradling darkness before the cord was cut. Every ocean wave and rainbow and star collapsing. Our beings growing gentle yet bodies utterly demanding in how we've urged the other towards a beautiful oblivion. 

Note the attachment. 

Vasopressin released into the brain. Heart rates slow down and fevers ebbing away yet a constant warmth remains here. Our arms laced around each other. Head still buried in your neck, softly kissing your pulse as breath climbs down from our gasps and our muscles start to relax. I'm still astounded that the the body can will itself to such blissful tension without breaking, like a string pulled to its threshold before letting go, the notes played are almost violent, phantom chords resonating long after we believe the music has stopped. There is always the desire to hold on now, to hold these notes as long as we can even though they inevitably flee into spectrums we simply can't access. 

It's not just dopamine, either. We would be fools to claim so. For all the forensics and patterns and reactions that can be detailed, the science is never perfected. And perhaps it never should be.

Quantify the result. 

Listen to the gentle murmurs, the sound of secrets given and guarded. The faint sense of immediate cold when pulling out of you but quickly gone as we shift and cuddle close together beneath a safe haven of blankets. Another surge of oxytocin, much more gradual and subtle now. Weaving this unseen mass of sweet tethers binding us. More skin and scents intermingled. We're vulnerable here in all a ways, more naked than ever because of such intimate exchanges. We live in the other's flesh now. Separate entities that always fuse. Always guided from lonely dissonance to joined harmony. 

Everything is archived now. I watch you fall asleep, safe and warm.

And I understand there is no true science to this, to you, no formula to fully equate connection. We're always more than elements meeting. More than the mere friction of objects.

There is no way to completely chart what you are to me. But, I'll keep trying.