Rapture

weaving, molding

shaping power.

Beneath the moon

All things must sour,

But bless this union,

this act of love.

on this cold night

we light the fires above.

As breath climbs higher and passion grows

bless us in one of your sacred groves.

twisting and turning,

mingling and churning

heart beats rapid

creeks no longer placid.

power mounting

power growing

stars live and die

to our passion exploding

...peace

...calm

finaly quiet