It's the after time that means so much,
after the body whispers to be taken,
leaving little kisses along her neck, 
the sweetest signature I can give
while fingertips tangle deep in locks;
her hair is the night loomed together
from all things dark and beautiful.

Entwining feels like a dream there 
where you never remember the start,
only fleeting flashes at the end 
following your entire being before
the body can even start to recover.

All we sense is this demanding closure,
a siren note blissfully humming in between
as the churning of some forgotten engine
where we learn to unfold and open again.

It's easy then to cradle against her chest
and listen to what she wants to say the most,
it's easy to hold on to such passion
when you're that far away,
chased like a firefly into the dark

Where I need to know if we're more than flesh,
more than these knots longing to be undone;
maybe I'm too scared to reach inside 
and find a heart not shaped like mine.

The after time always means so much,
the infinity of tiny universes scorched
and melded into a perfect tandem,
cells once furiously racing towards purpose
finally coming to a hushed standstill.

And we return from oblivion piece by piece,
the invisible brand of her scent lingering
as fingertips softly trace moon-kissed skin
with the slowest sweet signatures 
through all things dark and beautiful.

Maybe she was writing the myth about bodies,
how we're all pulled apart and forever reminded
that we may never be whole on our own,
we're always trying to find a way back inside.

To always touch like we lost something before
that we don't know how to name or get back,
the last cry of wanting to be remembered
as more than particles suddenly adrift in
the sometimes horrifying vastness of all time;
nothing of flesh could ever matter there.

It's easier then to be scared that 
this may never come to be enough,
that I may never really come to know
who is on the other side of your skin,
that another's glow is always needed,
chased like a firefly into the dark.

It's the after time that always tells us everything 
we need to know when she's close enough 
to breathe me in and whisper sweetness 
that will sound like a lost language 
blooming and welcoming me inside. 

It's where I'll never be scared to reach
and find a heart not shaped like mine,
to understand its shape and pain against my own,
to hold close these things so dark and beautiful.