the block

we are dreamers, you and i,
     standing on a precipice
     looking into the abyss. waiting.

staring into the darkness
     helplessly grasping for light.
     blackness, empty hands.

yet we search still, afraid.
    the sea is foreboding,
    we were not chosen, delusional just.

an eruption burned so (created by another)
    such warmth
    we exploded with desire
    that brimmed fingers, toes,
    and breast,
    and left our silent soul still, for a moment, suspended,

    like an angel.