The Night Holds Its Breath

The night holds its breath
as love, lust and fear dance
with the jester of my dreams
as he plays his silver flute
to make diamonds bloom,
to flood the sky with milk,
to awaken the icy butterfly
that rests upon your lips
like a lock upon a white door.

Will you grant me the key
to the slowly-forming city of dawn?
Will you compose the word
that births the rainfall of roses?

The night holds its breath
as I pray for the secret sound
from which the gold of life flows.