In the rapture of you, and words and sound,
I have found something that has been missing.
And in essence, your presence has turned on what was lost,
And at what cost as we speak of travesties and trivialities.
In some dormant want, there is music,
And there is joy.
Coming as only some boy, we play.
And you understood before my finger could lay claim,
You knew before my I laid my head down,
That these were the last words.
The Holy Ghost hath returned in some juvenile moment of redemptive nothing.
And, I ask so naively for an explanation to hold on to,
But is not heeded, not needed or necessary.
We have reached some thing, some personal salvation in the vain absence of you.
Of this, and that nativity.
An incessant ringing in my ears, we have struck gold,
A life on hold, that which has found the right.
In awe I am of you.
Filing away in unconscious need.
And throwing ourselves into this, into demise so pure.
Hollowed eyes in the company of few,
Too perfect to corrupt you.
Too much to allow you, we have reached the breach of contract,
In this inconsequential contact,
Of eyes and hands and hearts.
An unreachable peak,
Something amasses from dirt-
From your hands that touch, that grace.
In that coherent thought, I beg for that which I am not above.
As the grace of this washes over,
And over and over.