Tonight, is Gratitude my patron saint?
Awake, but in a dream of moments fair;
I see your outline in the starlight faint,
But touch your naked skin to feel you’re there.
It’s like the songs of angels in my heart
To hear your breathing flowing mild and meek:
A miracle like music torn apart;
And beauty’s tears caress your hair and cheek
When, overcome by love, I start to cry,
Remembering dancing in the magic field
Of sweet exhaustion where our bodies lie;
And still you’re in your gentle slumber wheeled
As if the pinnacles of what we sense
Became our sacred rites of innocence.