Stealing Night

He stole across that sweet, enveloping darkness
into my arms with a certainty
that made me want to weep,
transforming a façade of fear and hunger
into utter strength.

Every touch,
every kiss
burned to the base of my soul
as if he had known me a thousand years.

I was scared.
I still am.

And now I wonder if his mind is as littered with thoughts as mine is:
with flashes of his golden thighs enveloping my brown ones,
of my moans,
of his sighs,
of my skin flowing like a bolt of satin beneath his fingertips,
of soap and virgin showers,
of an understanding, both spoken and unspoken,
that this was meant to happen,
that we were supposed to meet,
to make love.

It is late and my heart will yet beat again as it did yesterday.
When I see the happiness in his beautiful eyes
as he pulls me into his arms,
when I feel us moving together,
all dishonesty,
all fear momentarily set aside,
when I hold him against me and sigh.

When he steals out of the night again,
I will be ready.