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
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,
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.