Tonight, I am alone.

Tonight, I raise my hands to nature as your hands reach for the moon in my stomach
I loosen my spine, I untie my ribs.
The cords of my lungs breathe out in dissonant sighs
And I feel the impurity of my birth lingering on my skin
You moisten your lips, but I am alone
Our hearts grope in the space between us, missing each other by the depth of our skin, stretched too tightly over all the secrets we hold, 
held in the oceans of doubt that swell in our chests.

I whisper your name in colours, your breath tastes of violet, of the sweat and the rumpled skin of stale intimacy
And you whisper mine, through the hollow of your mouth in timber and stained velvet notes
But I am alone.
Even Saturn and his sixty moon-wives could never understand
Why the heat of another's body could turn a soul cold.
All the oceans in our guts are drawn by the pull of another
But even then gravity breaks them apart.

So tonight, I raise my eyes to hold the universe
As you lift your arms to hold my heart
And though we hide our cratered souls behind the light of the stars
We recklessly continue our attempt at loving with so much abandon
That we leave patterns in another's skin, the same way the moons carve through saturns rings.
The reason why we continue to orbit another
Though our icy knees and elbows and fingertips may be shattered
To make wedding rings of ice to wrap about our bodies.

Tonight, with push and pull you break me apart
The moon in my stomach calls out for peace
But the oceans of torment that storm under your skin do not relent
And in the midst of our own universal chaos of colliding hearts 
Of musty bodies, of the sweat and the discordant breath of intimacy
That intimacy has never really touched.
Still, I am alone.