Indentations

love is not simply a desire,
it is a language of the eyes,
an unspoken alliance

of empyrean bodies orbiting stars;
perfect harmony in the
deep dark's firmament,

it is a taste on the tongue,
sensations well met,
balancing on the edge

of those flavours
that feed a hunger
no one else can feed in you,

it is faded blue jeans
scented by a partner's skin
leaving sweet invitations,

or a jacket that
touches bare shoulders
where your touch has been,

of fingerprints,
indented in its grooves
touching everything you do,

it is the knowledge
that while others may stare,
love only knows enough for two.

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