I open the skies up over me,
as I lie atop my building bed
and wait-

-patiently waiting. I wait for the
speckled white brightness of
the moon to wash over me.

It crashes over me, quenching
me, making my skin perk up
at the cool comfort as it ripples
through the coarse-soft fabric
I'm in. It bekons me to her and
asks for silent adoration of her
serene beauty.

Her face is a soothing bright fury
of white freckled with a graceful
spattering of grey. She is young,
but she has been carried through
the centuries with the bright seeds
that fill the skies. She outlives me,
tell me-

-why? I'm waiting patiently for
a sign. She has carried through the
time, secrets that were locked up-
her presence unloads it on my mind
and weighs me down.

Ask her season wind of velvety hair
that gently tickles over me to tell
me why I'm waiting for a sign. I will
stay hypnotised. Why does she still
want me when she knows that
she can tug at nothing but-

-my mind? And I'm waiting patiently.
She draws her margaric face in and
buries it, nestling it with her
spread of clouds like tufts of wool
and hides. She pokes at the tiny
little black mass in my heart.
She envelops me with it and sends
me shivering and my spine curving-

-for your warming bright to singe me
and burn the secrets of the centuries
away. Encases me in a flaming ball.
Leaves me longing for your form.
Grasping for everything that makes
it you. Makes me ache for you with-

-a tease because I want you. How
queer that I want, even in her
cold embrace up above me
holding my mind, to wait.
Waiting patiently-

-I wait for the sun.