Black velvet descends in the guise of night,
And all of my senses are heightened,
As a warm blanket of darkness insulates me from sound,
With one exception...the beating of my heart.

I lay as if waiting,
On a cloud of nothingness,
Till I sense his presence,
And my skin feels the feathered strokes
Of this angel's wings as they enfold me.

The rushing of my blood roars for all to hear,
As I'm played like a cherished instrument.
His golden radiance surrounds and then fills me,
And I weep at the beauty of it.

Is it a dream...a fantasy?
Does it matter if it isn't real?
Are not the feelings,
The stirrings of the heart enough?
If a soul sings in joy from a dream,
Should I deny it?