Stephen

Angel out of hell’s kitchen,
my sweet gift, found unsearched.
I expected to find no sun, no warmth
in such grey-washed corners of this earth.

I ran from love, from this, from you,
afraid more darkness I would see.
Eyes closed, I stumbled through dim alleys
but somehow my light found me.

Your sleeping face glows ‘neath morning’s touch
and while my pestering you elicits a smile,
I think, through all my ill-fated quests and flights,
I must have sought you all the while.