Day Twenty-Seven - #WoPoWriMo - Perfect

   
Who am I to deny now
a magic place you assured me
existed
if I allowed myself blindness
and utterly resisted the urge to reason
rationally.
So I can't draw you from memory - 
in tracing your body remembers me;
every inch; like my own back yard,
what makes you suck your breath
in hard and brings down the darkness 
of devotion
long after the lights go out.
I know what makes you scream
and roar at me,
constrict my breath, and thrash
and beat 
at the metaphorical core of me,
then call on me and beg me
hold you still.
And I know
how we come to forget
with breath in our hair,
on the backs of our necks,
and how we regret - 
and it is enough
to call this
Perfect.