Untitled Sonnet

I'm coming as storm shadowing your grief, The atmosphere bursting where you need me; We're in the middle of the push of rain That is streaked between inches of our pain. A whirring draft of the glass on our lips— We're drunk with so much said and unsaid tense; I lay down our winds to christen you by Because you can never truly be mine. This is the end of walking by shadows For shadow faithfulness would have me go— Would I found you sleeping in innocence, After our storm's undefended hindrance. For the damn, instead its present go through Beneath my heart, where I'm looking at you.