Why the poet always gets the girl.

You come to me by twilight
In a gown of gauzy white
Your sacraments revealed concealed
High priestess of the night

You whisper vespers whisper prayers
Whisper vows of faith and fear
In still and silent grace you stand
As I in trembling awe draw near

I kneel in worship grasp your hand
Press it to my searing lips
Pray god to know the endless peace
Flowing from your fingertips

You come to me in night divine
Your glory lit by crowning gold
You consecrate by hungry glance
Devotion’s heat in evening’s cold

You come to me I kneel I stand
You lay me on the dewy ground
You guide my worship guide my hands
Lead my heart your heart to sound

You speak to me with loving grace
You catechize in passion’s glow
You reach you teach you seethe and burn
And I am blessed by truth to know

You come to me in gauzy gown
High priestess of the night
I lay in awe in faith in fear
Lifted to your heaven’s light

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