Unquiet dreams shift,
sauntering coaxing vibrations
over sacred words like waves
towards the dawn of your rhythm.
Nerves pulse into storm, birthing
your voice beyond the grace of god
like ichor playing throughout solemn veins,
scribing kingdoms in dry palms.
I long to breathe deeply in
the warmth of your enigma,
weaved slowly, a transcendental hush
splayed across tattered bones.
But suspended overtures genuflect
themselves in immaterial cocoon,
embroiderer's silk exhaling scars