At this hour, the last call is said and lost souls whistle through their whiskey covered lips trying desperately to venture home.
At a time like now, there is a still in the moonlit air where only night owls should be hunting their prey.
At moments frozen as these, I should be trapped in a solace penumbra, fast asleep, with my mind dancing through shimmering streets.
But, as I lay here restless, listening to the calm beat of my heart, my imagination drifts to a locus I dare not recollect.
As I drift into a slumber, I commemorate the taste of your rough lips brushing against my soft cheek.
As I repose, your steady hands feel warm across my chilled back.
As I marvel at the though of you, I look into your pastel blue eyes and see the gentle longing to take all that I am willing.
As I wonder when I will be reunited with my love, my heartbeat skips and disturbs it's sanctifying rhythm and I sink into a cherished languor where I may wake hand to hand, chest to chest, and lips to lips with the one I call my beloved.
2/8/15
