Fingerprints on My Heart

 

Fingerprints on My Heart
Your fingerprints blaze across my heart
like molten gold pressed into crimson flesh,
whorls glowing hot, ridges etched in velvet fire—
a living tattoo that pulses with every breath,
mapping the stolen nights we burned into each other.I clutch those sun-drenched afternoons like fragile glass,
when your laughter spilled honeyed and golden,
flooding the room with the scent of summer skin and jasmine,
when your fingers traced lazy rivers down my spine
and time dissolved into the slow throb of our shared pulse.You blaze as a star in my midnight sky—
not distant and cold, but a fierce sapphire flame,
scorching the dark velvet heavens,
throwing silver sparks that rain across my closed eyelids
whenever I dare to look up and remember.The interstate unfurls like a black serpent under moonless skies,
taillights bleeding red into the asphalt veins,
each mile a fresh knife-twist of absence—
gunshot echoes cracking through my ribs,
the sting of wind-lashed tears mixing with the acrid taste of diesel and regret.Yet in the shadowed cathedral of memory,
your voice rises like warm smoke curling from embers:
a velvet murmur that brushes the nape of my neck,
whispering my name in the hush of rain on tin roofs,
or the soft crackle of firelight dancing on your cheekbones.You dwell in the hollows beneath my breastbone,
a secret ember that flares when the world grows quiet—
your scent of cedar and midnight orchids lingers in the air,
your touch ghosts across my skin like summer lightning,
and your fingerprints refuse to cool,
they burn brighter, deeper, forever branding me yours
in the architecture of bone and longing.