Pharaoh's Grace

The taste of your voice,

Blessed by the essence of the days vanity,

Moments pass as each second becomes cherished,

The past of butterflies that have lost track of time,

The angels sit,

precarious as their laments are carried by the wind,

A paraplegic stillness that halted before the wind swirled,

An Invisible immigrant to the hairs that rose on the back of our necks,

Silence peaked,

Emotion gave way,

Giving way to the roof that houses the clouds,

Heaven could be tasted,

Each sense caught fire,

Becoming liquid fire as each moment neighbored the hour

That swooned eternity,

Hidden by the sands beneath the Sphinx