You know—

I dreamed of darkness, her velvet crown,

Falling heavy, dusted, down,

Lining broken floors with hush,

With fragile warmth, with orphaned trust,

A cradle made of silence,

Blind and endless,

Soft as breath upon a windowpane.

I dreamed of darkness, restless, turning,

Peeling plaster from the walls,

The rooms themselves drew back in fear,

Escaping from her shadow’s calls.

Yet I, a blade through sleep’s thin veil,

Slid unscarred across the night,

And split the dawn wide open—

Only by the rising of my eyes.

And darkness dreamed of me as well,

Reaching out with trembling hands,

Touching—then recoiling,

Scattering fragments of my being

Into corners where she hid,

Seeping into every hollow,

Closer, closer—

Till the thread between us

Burned like hidden fire.

I dreamed of darkness,

She lay beside me breathing low,

Like a beast that found its shelter,

And in its heart—

She found me whole.

She stretched across the silent gaps,

Binding fractures with her hush,

Weaving whispers through the rafters,

Turning night to silver dust.

Her breath a tide, her gaze a flame,

Her weight a hymn without a name,

Pulling me deeper,

Into the secret pulse of night.

I dreamed of darkness—

Her breath was steady, calm, forgiving,

Like a creature at last returned,

To the shelter of its dwelling.

And in that dwelling,

I was waiting,

And she was near—

And the silence sang of us.