I lay so very still,

captive within the vowels
of your sigh,

passion coursing
through veins like a river
as you lay there,
bare and forgiving...
a response to words I could hardly whisper.

words that had eyes,
and fingers,
words that crawled up your pale, beautiful
skin in search of a place to live,
in search of the unknown depths of heart.

If I could step outside this dream
I could walk the path,
in blindness,
and still find you,

light becoming warmth
and close to touch,
the fevered pitch of voice calling me...

"come, my love,
find me in the clearing at moontide...
and passion,
as love,
will be home here,"