There is a mathematics to the way
you fit against me,
the curve of your shoulder
finding the hollow of my chest,
the angle of your hip
solving for the space between my thighs.
We are a theorem
I want to prove
again and again.
I have counted the freckles on your back
like constellations.
I have traced the line of your spine
like a path I never want to end.
I have pressed my mouth to every inch of you
and still,
still,
I find new places to kiss.
The small of your back
where sweat collects
like morning dew.
The inside of your elbow
where veins run blue
and desperate.
The place behind your ear
where you go soft
and say my name
like a prayer
you never meant to learn.
You asked me once
what I think about
when I think about you.
Everything.
Nothing.
The shape of your hands
and the way they hold me
like I'm something precious.
The sound you make
when I'm inside you
and the world falls away
and there's nothing left
but this
only this
always this.
I think about the first time
I kissed you
and how I knew
in that moment
that I would spend the rest of my life
learning you.
I think about the last time
I kissed you
and how it felt
exactly the same.
There is a language
we speak with our bodies
that has no words.
It lives in the space
between one breath and the next.
It lives in the pause
before your mouth finds mine.
It lives in the way you reach for me
in your sleep
as if even unconscious
you know
you need me close.
I am fluent in this language now.
I speak it with my hands,
my lips,
my hips.
I speak it in the dark
when words would only break the spell.
And you,
you answer
in the same tongue.
Come closer.
Let me show you
what numbers cannot calculate.
Let me be
the proof
you've been waiting for.
Let me solve you
again
and again
and again.
