Long ago,
I wrote psalms
of grief.
Lamentations
of a yearning,
unfulfilled.
Until you.
Beneath the dark
of a false sky,
I would wait.
Stars hidden by the haze
both above
and within.
Until you.
Anguish bared
in supplication
to false idols
and mythic gods.
Scrawled epithets
in invisible ink.
Until you.
Now,
The angels of mercy
sing.
My spirit glides,
above the noise
of the great dark
I once worshipped.
So now,
I wait for no storm,
or cold wind
to capture my spirit.
So on this night,
I do not conjure
nightmares to page.
For my mind
is filled,
by the sublime imagery
of your form.
My heart racing,
as anticipation takes hold.
Tonight, you sleep
beside me.
A moment,
words cannot surmise.