Lovelost at the Gates of Dawn

Miraculous image of Our Lady of Czestochowa, Creative Commons

I came with the intent to write,
But have found myself painfully unable to
As the image of the great queen did find me 
Her face was torn, but so beautiful,
In the dead of an early-morning dream
I laid awake, not sleeping,
(At least, that’s what so seemed) 
Typing away furiously as some kind of
Driven-mad purveyor of things unmentionable
As they are too sacred,
And far too divine,
For the tongues of mortal men to deliver
Lest they be burned away by the fire
Of incomprehensible love

Her stare is beyond me, from the absence,
A kiss of gaze 
Where everything may be revealed
Perfect and whole within her truth
And at last, at last!
May the lovelost be found in the glory of itself
That only by grace be delivered on a silver platter,
To the willing, 
Her tantalizing sacraments!

I wish naught but to press my lips to her cheek,
The very fire of that meeting burns within me!
Only a cheek, my beloved, if I may
But only your cheek…