(Written November 22, 2011, at 1:50 am.)
Your silhouette against the rising sun. The day has new meaning.
The night that has ended is forgotten in the past. The thought of your perfect body in a forgiven morning is a gift.
You may not see me, but I am the eyes that search for traces of you in the blowing wind.
You may not hear me, but I am the ears that hear all your languages.
You may not touch me, but I am the skin that is alive with the imagination of yours.
You may not know I exist, but I do. And I am revived to this world with your silhouette against the rising sun.