Not if, but when;

aside as thunder with mollusk eyes and streaks of accusation, becoming what we laid aside dreaming contemptable dreams, you'll come to me as the divine erato, as crashing curtains upon applause, with streaks and instances flapped across the pages, you'll come to me only as stolen glimpses from the other side, shifty smiles and unsaids drifting in the sultry air, the glance dance delicately performed, come to me as whispers crawling on their knees, grovel for a precious moment of my time.

For when you come to me,
I will be ready,