The inky backdrop to a magical event.

This taste in my mouth is odd.
Almost metallic.
As if my tongue truly has turned to lead.
Giving explanation of why I can't make a sound.

A lack of words and metaphors.
The only sound I can make is
the beating of my heart in my chest.
It's rhythm forming your name.

I stare into the sky, with the hopes you are looking at the same moon.
The stars ablaze in their glory,
those silent keepers of the night.
They create the background for this symphony...
of heartbeats and silence, which I created for you.

Maybe within their stillness,
you might feel the soft breeze created by my hushed breath.
Hear my heart speaking to you.
And know the grace with which my tongue forms your name.