I do not care for your silly melancholy.
Or your shredded rose.
Or your enchanted mystery.

I do not care for your subtle innuendo.
Or your crazy attachments.
Or your mystical memories.

I care for you.
For the passionate warrior you are.
For the miraculous mix of flesh and soul.
For the jagged wounds and smoothest places you reveal.

You are your own story.
A mix of light and creepy shadows.
A page of jumbled words that somehow make perfect sense.
The light touch of the softest hand I have ever known.

You are your own epiphany.
Somehow brought to life by the tortured flames,
Of distant fires you sometimes use,
As a torch to light your way.

And then there is the space.
That beautiful altar on which I sit with you.
That gateless heaven on which we sing our tune.
That formless cloud on which our waters spring.

That space…that place where I feel you most.
In a myriad of my human reality,
There is you, part reality and part a certain fantasy.
And a sigh that calls your name.

I close my eyes and reach for you.
Yet both hands remain softly on my folded knee.
I open my heart and sing for you.
Yet words never leave my longing lips.

Seek me when the Sun sleeps,
And find me…
Howling at the Moon in her arousal.
There, a sound never to be forgotten.

Find me when the breaking dawn
Awakens in me things the dead forget.
Beg me for more, seek in me your respite…
Your cup, your thirst forevermore.

And I will answer you.
Through words of victory in sweet surrender.
In chants that beg the ecstasy from your flesh,
In hopes of moments yet to come.

And then, the slow release,
The ocean’s waves, the foggy breaks along the shore.
The answered prayers of body, soul and heart
Left to nothing on the floor.

You are the end of me, sweet love.
As I bathe in you, breathe you in
A thousands nights have begun to take their toll
As I fall to me knees, beaten to the core.

You will likely never know these things…
These dreams, these heartfelt fantasies.
You are but a sense of who I wish to be,
A monument to the sweetest possibility.