Letters

Nights in millennia:

Waiting for you, in the shadow of the unborn moon;

Waiting for you, on the forgotten side of the evening star;

Waiting for you, in the blackness of the stellar labyrinth.

Waiting for you:

To light night’s candles with your eyes;

To irradiate from the cortex of the heavens,

to the very essence of my being;

To find your way to me.

Hours set in stone:

Waiting for you, on the cold, bruised earth;

Waiting for you, naked to the sky;

Waiting for you, in the darkest valleys of my world.

Waiting for you:

To heat my senses with my breath;

To clothe my limbs with yours;

To leave your fire-prints upon my soul

with the primal passion of your touch.

Moments held in limbo:

Waiting for you, lost in thought-fog;

Waiting for you, drowning in the rivers of my mind;

Waiting for you, by the empty crucible of my desire;

Waiting for you:

To guide me back across the Stygian gap;

To drink you in,

the true intoxicant of my spirit;

To fill my cup.

Come to me:

Come meet me on the soft side of morning,

and read my thoughts with fingertips of braille.

Come to me:

Come fill my cup;

Come share my side;

Come write my dreams.

David A. Egan

Riverhead