so long ago it seems infinite:
heavy velvet, dark wine,
our crest on the wooden walls
in autumn splendor,
the gasp of midnight
and the vacuum of shadow,
a void in which only stars exist.

we became raw in that sacred space,
madoc and zyll, adam and eve,
souls and bones and flesh and breath,
a prayer in the closeness of our lips
to the omnipotence of reckless abandon--

we were god and goddess,
angels, mystics,

and though you have gone

we burn on,
we breathe and become,
breathe and become,
beacons in the blackest of skies,
little flames in the swallow of night.