The Shape of Absence

I am adrift in a state of longing,

consumed by dreams I dare not wake from.

Where crisp air is cold upon my skin,

and our ears are filled with the sound

of crackling fire and hot breath.

Fingertips softly trace mountains

and valleys of flesh.

The rhythm of our bodies

driven by your insatiable clutching of my hips.

My tongue searching your lips, your mouth,

for remnants of promises

and words unspoken.

I cling to you —

your heat, your sweat.

In wild passion and agonising loneliness,

I cling to you

and the memory of you burned upon my skin.

I cling to you so that I may breathe,

and not drown

in the crushing waves of your absence.