In the Room with One Lit Candle

                            For You,

There came giddy bouts of laughter between our devilish breathing, an
    ever-so quiet recurring pleasure and those wonderfully whispered
        "I love you's."
We lay in a moment of perfection at its peak, and the only thing to
    worship was our position in that single space of time.
Never has any one experience filled my entire being with such a purity;
    such a comfortable, vulnerable and peaceful state of existence.

                    Life has come back to my body and I'm
                infinitely more appreciative for all of my
            reality now that I can claim you as my very own
        philosophy.

I've seen your skin gleam, naked and aware.
Protected by our blankets, pillows and what ever was left of me in the
    dissonance of the room with one lit candle.
How your lips stay slightly parted, always in sweet anticipation
    (you're counting the seconds between each kiss).
How your eyes, dark as they are, shed light on my face re-framing this
    boy behind his mask.
How you smell and taste and brace yourself for the collision we will
    cause.
These are the details which carry me from day to anxious day.
They ripple through me in your absence.

                    We are both artists, and art is only
                voyeurism. I am now your dedicated voyeur, and
            you are now my art.
                    Let me watch you for a while, and
                every time you catch me, my expression will
            prove my satisfaction.

I want a collection of your sound; every word, every vowel, every happy
    sigh.
I like what I hear.
The syllables slip, pop! and -crunkle-
Then they glide their way to the end of my soul.
You are music to my ears, without a doubt, the prettiest sound I hear.
I'm trying so very hard not to give-in to astonishment.

                    Please do not be sad by this.
                I'm only giving you my testament.