Mystic

like a god able to be summoned by the thousands of words I wrote to you, you appeared before me, tall and dark, eyes bright with fondness, curiosity. the air around us nor the distance between is familiar, but something is, whatever we feel that prompts us to keep trying. do we flow from one river or two, tumbling confusedly where we meet? a lump like your teeth closing on my throat chokes me, bruises me. why do you always come to me, to plague me with your mysticism? my visions, my dreams. I made love to divinity. I cannot cover you with earth, nor my eyelids. I once lay hands on your broad, flat plains, greedy to mount your spire.