Is it fear that keeps me here?
A fear that, without these folded hands
And whispered prayers,
My grasp of perfect Love will falter,
And this envelope of adoration break?
Is this blindness from your radience --
A ringing deafness from the trumpets?
Am I sensory-deprived --
Your perfect vessel, to be empty of volition,
Fired into fragile glass inside the glory of your Love?
Am I love because you love me,
A creature made whole with sacrifice
And with passion?
Could our Love transcend this perfect idyllation,
To kiss and be unbroken still?