A cocoon of smoke,

All bright-colored,

The tails of dream-snakes, soft,

Tokens of nightmares, once alive,

That once wrenched the soul asleep,

Now brilliant, weaving themselves into a world apart:

There, we love, we live the lives we intend.

I can kiss your hands and tell you the looks we shared were sacred.

That nothing is trite or untrue.

If I could turn myself inside-out,

And, unencumbered by language, or flesh,

Draw a portrait of your face in me,

Impress upon you, like a flame,

The form of this intrepid love,

Something pure, yet uncheapened by words.