You stared at me long after in that time
where we're only wisps and snapshots
and I was lost in my own longing,
in a kiss so imperceptible that it seemed 
to emanate from somewhere beyond us.

The tender heat of your lips remained
and I wanted it to leave a mark.

To have something of you in the end.

Because I wanted to be claimed,
forever branded in urges blooming
on the cusp of such human fires,
to have proof that you loved me.

It's a jealousy that I will 
never ask forgiveness for.

The proof will be our bodies.

The room has long since darkened
and you remain beside me so open 
and vulnerable in ways I may 
never quite know how to be.

Body naturally perfumed and it reminds me
of nocturnal flowers slowly opening,
mysteriously sweet and tilting
towards the cold silver moonglow,
wanting to touch a light so out of reach.

And your hands cup my face then
as though you also felt this,
a cipher to understand your own skin,
the ache for some proof surviving
beyond our beautiful but invisible tethers.

The tender heat will remain here 
and I know we could both sense it,
something so imperceptible yet
we're both scared to lose this 
on the cusp of such human fires.

And I don't want you to
just leave a mark on my skin,
I can already see the ones
on you that I never made,
stories there I can never know.

So I need mine to mean something else,
to tell its own history to keep,
to have something of you in the end.

I want what lies beneath me to know,
to be the hearth where this blaze 
leaves me smoldering and trembling,
forever sated in your wake.

It's a jealousy that I will
never ask forgiveness for.

The proof will be our bodies.