The Morning Dance

Enveloped in sheets woven of the very fabric of eternity I turn my waking gaze upon the serenity of your countenance. Never has a sunrise known such striking resplendence, nor such fragility, for all, I fear would vanish should I exhale too deeply. In envy, the sun looms achingly opposite the window drapery, casting golden morning hues of a deep intrinsic beauty. Yet the rays in comparison, a mere lux, delicate and unearthly by thy visage, spectral and sallow things in the dim periphery. Thus, lay I suspended, basking in a twilight void of space and time falling ever inward to be imprisoned by my heart’s affections. There, nothing knows consequence save tender reflections of devotion and yearning expressed in ancient passions divine. I’m hanging on the precipice of madness, just shy of transcendence, helplessly entangled in an ever-enduring moment of ecstasy. In earnest, I catch my breath and, through the looming haze I find thee eyeing me with a crumpled brow and a yawning stretch, we resume the dance.