The Illusionist

The black mask of night
Beckons me into the depths
Of its darkened abyss.
It is here that I wait.
Patiently, patiently,
For the magic of my mystical illusionist.

He comes to me secretly;
Untraceable and undetectable;
Coming from some unknown place.
His breath is hot against my cheek,
Fingers lightly flutter across my skin,
Butterfly kisses gently play across my face.

His silhouette illuminated
Only by the palest of light
Shimmering across the stars.
Nothing else to be revealed,
No more secrets to discover.
Only words spoken from the heart.

Night fades slowly,
Leaving only the pale gray;
Kissed by the morning's dewy mist.
He is gone.
Vanished with the night,
My mystical illusionist.

Waking from my slumber,
Sadness folds her arms around me
And takes me to her bosom.
Reality steps in.
My mind lays claim to its creation;
He was only my illusion.

This mystical creature,
Made by fantasy,
Called on in time of loneliness.
No promises to be made, nor kept.
I beckon him back,
My magical, mystical illusionist.