Touched by the Sun

She seems a dream in the pre-dawn light,
softly slumbering,
lashes dark as soot on cheeks of cream and rose
lips parted, breathing deep and even.
The sun's first ray, a shimmering shaft,
caresses her golden skin,
kissing her as I dare not
(I dare not)
as she turns and hides her face,
the sleeping sparrow, wings a-quiver,
curling deeper into her nest.

My hand hesitates, hovering
just above her unruly curls,
longing to test their texture,
to wrap just one around a gentle finger,
with a touch lighter than my indrawn breath.

Like moist satin, her lips shimmer
invitingly, soft and damply parted.
My mouth burns with the memory of their touch,
gently seared into my flesh with her taste,
sweetly exotic, rich as honeyed wine.

I never thought to live in sunlight.
I dared not dream of waking
with an angel beside me,
sleeping so near
as if it were only natural,
as though I were a man
an ordinary man.

With her to guide me,
I do what I never dared dream.
The chains that held me,
burned deep into unfeeling flesh,
fall away beneath the delicate touch of her regard.

She bears me up on her fragile wings
when I would turn and flee,
high above the darkness of the man I was –
their frantic beating an echo of my heart.

Her hand holds tight to mine when I would turn away,
hiding my face.
Her delicate touch soothes burned and weeping flesh,
old wounds finally opening to bleed free.
Her belief in me makes me whole.
For her, I become the man she believes I can be,
free of fear, suspicion, doubt.
With her I face the world,
all masks aside.

AMH
3 April, 2005