Already accepted that he is the one of his kind;
he is never going to happen again, though,
he has shed and shared too much blood
for keeping himself alive -
always on the still
I am the cosmonaut of his existence;
the explorer of his oneness
for he is the macrocosm of my blooming.

I've seen the stones;
the sphinx's heart,
the tears of the sand,
the touch of the wind,
the taste of the silence,
the plenty of the vastness
- all, though, existed
without rhyme or reason
for as the shimmering firmament itself,
you towered over me.

Only imagined the moving,
dreamed the breathing
for I was walled up alive
beneath the body of life,
its womb was my tomb,
its stasis was my shroud,
yet, my immurement
is come to an end now, though,
for I can witness the rising
of the dark harvest moons
under your eyes.

In this midheaven of demigods.
beneath this semidetached shelter
of semi-manufactured souls.
apart from the half-hearted's dimidiate
the bright-half departs
for dovetailing all of our halves.

I wandered from mirror after mirror
finding no home in any of them,
for my reflection can only have a being
in these eyes of yours.

My wings became the shadow of the past,
yet still echoing their flight
for you are the space
that holds together their mass
and breathes matter again into them.

Entombing the scream
into my body to hide
the banshee
for the sake of guarding
this terra incognita;
the peacetime of ours.