ometimes I feel my words are
a blazing flame melting the chalice
of your golden heart.
There is comfort in the quiet when
hand in hand we cross the continents.
We feel but never touch and let the moon
devour us, set the night afire, too holy for the light.
In your presence I am profanity in a sacred sky,
a blasphemy of flaws too small to alter fate.
While I was thinking of you a fledgling Falcon
fell to earth, saved by the wind on his
passage to life.