beneath silken covers
imagine the flow of inky truth
from a cylindrical fountain pen that
pours into sweet open space between,
sometimes spilling over and always
conveying mystery beyond meaning

word upon word
in a language wholly inadequate
to express unfathomable thought and
emotion inexpressible yet revealing
through sheer veil scent of my soul
and taste of this love, bitter, sweet

rhythmic repetition
with intermittent and erratic jolts –
remembered image here, forgotten detail
there, and culminating in a glorious tangle
of multi-faceted passion, collapsing
into an eternal circle, ring of fire

three remain there
in the end: faith in the indisputable
what has been and in the One who holds
us now, hope for the irrefutable what could be
and the union of our souls with Him, love
for the incontrovertible what is, I Am