In Process of Merger

I am not so naive as to claim it love, this raw and tender vibration between us.  We are not so serious, nor are we mutually in any sort of intensity that either of us could claim that this combining is the making of.  We are not so gentle nor do we take our time.  But, the embrace, when we are not parted only so far as to grin at each other's grin, is tighter than any hug.  One of us, not saying it's me, might be afraid we're falling.  One of us, though I'm not saying it's me, might be baptizing themselves in our union, in the sweat between.  I'm not saying it's me, but I'm not saying it's not me.  It may be me: surrendering to the feel of you.  And though I cannot claim we're making love, I can't find this in the definition following "sex".  You call it fucking, but I call it skin, and soul, and a reclaiming and joy.  Let it be violent or rough, let it leave bruises and bitemarks, even a tender sting or swell.  Reminders of fusion.  For even the smallest amount of time, you were a part of me, and no matter what you call it, I'm translating it to a synonym I can admire with rose hued vision.  While I am not so naive as to claim that what we have is love, I am still ingenuous enough to aim for something like it.