Those mornings when we had slept little
(that drifting sleep
when I was too aware you are a man)
those mornings
when I was not too quick to wake
you found me in the dreamscape
made me more
aware, my hands found you
in the Silence of those mornings
my mouth found you
in the Silence, I devoured you,
in those moments, I was whole.
And yet to hold on to the ideal of you
is to slay the Silence
into the immortal of someday.
For you are the thing I will lose;
you are music, you are whispers
of a lover in the night too sweet.
