before I was come
were you but a memory
of a place where we lay
one with the night
pressed with a promise
to evergreen needles
preparing our hearts
a moment to rise
before I was grace
I was want for no more
than the sound
of your breathing
the warmth of your face
skin robbing skin
of all that was mattered
lips barely touching
fearful of flame
before I was nothing
who were you wanting
when back through
the madness –
you wandered so far
to dream
our beginning
from a whispered confession
a prayerful
remember
forgiving
us now

before I was come
were you but a memory

. . .