I blacken, with such sounds,
The motions of my feeble arms,
The blue awakening of my skies,
To drown in your clouds
The harrowing blue curves of your tears.
You count the petals
To the scented winds,
Touches of longing.
You hold out a hand
That I may kiss.
You take a stand
Where I may catch you,
Should you fall.
Your eyes, the ebony to my white,
Your skin, the white to my ebony.
Your face, the entire poem without its words,
Your form, the standing sculpture without motion,
Your feet, a base for me to trace,
Straight to Heaven.