Silence stolen in the dew-kissed
vault of dawn -
reflections of
forever promised in the night,
captured and frozen by the brush of first
light.
(sorrow for the endurance of a single memory
can be as brutal as that for a thousand
nights of stone.)
Your breath was the translucent sting of
a promise,
your lips the sweet, honeyed residue of
now.
Spring enfolded me within her warm-weathered
wings,
and night fell heavy with lassitude and
teasing indolence.
The world was warm, perfect in its uncertainty,
and I desired nothing more than the blue
peace of darkness,
the birth of your lips upon my own,
the creation of light.
You have been everything to me,
and nothing.
Those things you'd stolen, I no longer
missed.
That morning was the last moment of my
reticence,
and I no longer questioned the dawn.