without a queen the locust swarm.

i could not call her beautiful
for she surpassed that
some months ago.
i think it was in the moment
her head pressed my chest,
how she embodied
the moon's glow.

we became shape shifters of covers
underneath them, on them and beyond
and
our skin colliding echoed promises,
mouths intermittently projecting
songs in tongue.

to whom do i owe this pleasure
of this endeavor
that we venture on?
when lips press to neck
within the concave
we can taste salt
eroding the wrong.

it was just a manner of speaking
but amidst moving limbs
no words were exchanged
as we tried to make the intangible
something we could gift to one another,
something to tame.

beautiful was saved for
those nights we fought
to create logic,
to physically implore.
as we continually tried
to surpass it;
discover the warmth of romance,
and of other bliss laden worlds.