Poem - Absent Saviour

There is strength in him belied by gentle fingertips,
That hint to tender protection,
A feel of forceful ease,
Secure hands grasping mine that never falter.

There is a beauty to him enhanced by pride not governing,
That pale skin translucent betwixt darkness,
A form perfect, conditioned,
Taken breath speared from use at every glancing.

There is a seriousness to him harmonised by twinkled humour,
That ready grin and pearly revelation,
A laugh; husky; skimming flesh,
Trust sparked through balanced saviour.

There is an iniquity to him ruled by graceful dignity,
That anger held sieged by a heart, cold,
A conflict of traits base, undefined,
Never feared for only wonder fuelled.

There is a soul to him veiled by eyes; depth and aged,
That need he has for understanding,
A pleading; make me, adore me,
Strength, beauty, grace all hiding love waiting for claim.

There is a willingness in me for him inflamed by all he be,
That perfection encompassing my heart, warm,
A readiness I feel; let me, here, now,
Then I wake so lost, lonely, wanting… he is gone.