It is of thee that I sing,
when I sing the body electric,
your temple crowned with radiant nimbus thus,
a filament so bright it lays siege,
to mine own storm cloud, ever dark and dreary.
Upon the softest touch,
the circuit's white-blow flashes,
circumnavigating flesh and bone and mortal sinew,
till it pierces our heart of hearts.
And should mine animus commingle with thy anima,
would the confluence of our charged currents merge,
at the nexus of a single thought? Perhaps.
Much the same, methinks,
as that twinkling when I consider thee,
and simultaneously see,
a reflection of mine own spirit,
one charge harmoniously mirroring the other,
the two on the block as one.
To have conjoined with thee,
in this electric dance;
to have skirted your ancient tide pools
and their rocky outposts past;
to have been drawn to your sweet breath,
and surrendered myself to your words,
as thus a candle may singe the moth:
All this, yet we only met. . .today.