all the while getting harder to touch, in her own private hell, she basks.

Lifting her veil, no easy task,

little chance of removing her mask,

She is slipping away all too fast,

unaware of all her miracles, long since past.

Her Christmas is nothing short of pain,

Santa, lights, trees, gifts make way for young life stains.

She is my gift--all year round,

she sees nothing inside-all her special presents unfound.

She is my holiday, my most prized gift,

something as sublime as she, as this,

this love, this passion....

breathless for the taste of her kiss.

Does she know that her breath is my skin,

does she know that my soul breaks,

my body physically aches,

for her touch....

burning embers from within,

set to scorch.

She lines everything in gold,

her own stories, to her, remain untold.

Does she know her voice surges through my veins?

Does she know she drowns out every hideous bane?

She has the power to make turmoil and sadness wane.

She makes my pain easier to tame.

She wipes my tears blinked through wet eyelashes,

she is the answer-where all other questions and mysteries, linger and languish.

She dissipates all fear, all inhibitions, my love stays, it blooms, she obliterates anguish.

She is a dream, she is my dream,

I love her to every human extreme.

I wish she knew,

I wish I could breathe through,

her skin, her pores, her essence, her being,

I wish I could free her, the way she does me,

I wish she could see,

through this hell, all she could ever be.

I wish she could see,

through this hell, light, love, happiness....me.