He lay exhausted under
the brilliant stars of Heaven,
searched them with
a faraway look
in his raven eyes,
hoping he would see
his lady again.

He traced his lips
with his tired-fingers,
imagining them hers.
Relishing the thought,
he burned with fire,
remembered her tender kisses,
the beating of her fervent heart,
the fragrance of her sweet skin,
the taste of her honey-breath.

Days of brutal-fighting
had depleted the legion,
many brave warriors
would not return home.
It was a time for reflection,
a chance for silent-prayer,
to pay reverence for
being spared.

As he drifted in and out
of conciousness,
he wondered if
she were tracing
her own lips
with his fingers
in her mind,
desired him still.
Good Lord,
he missed her.

Trembling,
he feared the worse,
as tears poured,
drifted over his cheeks,
he wanted home so badly,
he could taste it in his tears.