There are still shadows within him
that distant light has yet to reach.
Not yet the spark of opportunity
to grind the depths of reason as
we move through, move forward
to a full circle of seasons.
When he feels, enough to speak it
to me profound, its the loving
in the dark, dreaming to the sound
of his breathing, such the need is
to know the deepest parts of him,
limitless well of a man, with this
wealth of hidden insight, from
the basis of everything meaningful
he has become, to the awful ache
of emptiness only he can fill, he
touches me like no other has, how
he can always turn me to light,
alive, time and again.