It is my illness: to find heaven in you. Each time you move by my side I find myself feeling electricity accrue, my fingers wishing to coil, enshrined in a loving eternal prayer. Breaths leave your lips, condensation incites quick steps, eclipsing the patterns of thought left to lovingly crumble in your wake. Trick- -les of fire burn each time you pause to think, or rhetort, or shift your tongue, I am caught between the need to stay true to our brink, or to fall into you; lost forever. Naught seems comparable to your divine form, and left am I living a life left shorn.