The charcoal clouds wouldn't mind
whispering in your ear,
sweet little nothings that would
rivet through you body . . .
down to the depths of your soul,
where the beast lies
waiting for the *one*
who would release him
from his darkened den,
into the brilliance and warmth
of endless passion.

At the edge of dreams and reality . . .
there is a place for you and me.
The perfect balance is what
we seek a thought . . .
no need to speak.
You Know me and I Know you . . .
yet we have never met . . .
we know it is true.
The Spirit WithIn has finally found,
a common bond here on the ground.