I wanted to write about it hours later, how your kiss still burning on my lipsis proof of some invisible connective tissuetethering us no matter where we go.I wanted to write about the throaty raspemitting from the curve of your throatas a wordless invitation to explore more skin,or how sometimes you taste like rain,an earthly sweetness that men are notpermitted to entirely understand.I wanted to decode all your marks,the messages that steadily whisperand etimesgut escort ripple in every valley under your skin,how when I’m so close to understanding,I may really know nothing at all.Or how a single kiss can be likethe inside of a furious stormand suddenly presses me to your chest,against the only thunder I understand,blood boiling as we sail to such edgeswhere oblivion seems so inevitableyet we always eryaman escort return whole.I longed to describe how we take one anotherin the gathering darkness of your room,how such a small and sacred space is a womb we are born again within,or how we are neither predator or prey yet remain as two beasts descending,forever driven by the ancient hunt.I ached to detail the honeyed sheenglistening from a fleshy mysterious sincan escort pearlbegging to be touched and tasted,even if its sudden violent pulsesare not meant to be entirely understood.I wanted it forever carved into me,a universe mirrored in wisps across your eyesthe moment I begin to move through you,the intensity is proof of time’s fluid nature.It’s proof that everything thrummingbetween the invisible connective tissue,from the way you’ll claim the purest piece of meto the way our pain was silently soothed,to how the afterglow is what we really reach for….I’ve spent years trying to describe what willtether us no matter where we go. These are the things that always remain here.Things I am not permitted to entirely understand.