And so it begins.

In the midst of grey hours, 
I see it all. 
Chambré honey, mirthful sight. 
Twenty six seconds, 
yet older than chaos. 
Empyrean as the Rings of Neptune. 
A billet-doux of words yet to be said, 
of truth yet to be felt. 
Gainsay, we do. 
In the midst of haste and trance, 
I see you. 
And all of the crepuscular and light; 
vehement and serene; 
cosmic and ephemeral; 
nebulas and dark matter; 
colliding inside of me come to rest, 
to the sound of your voice. 
-U.J