Dips of passion, waves of joy
enticing me as you draw near.
I grow old as a single drop of sweat
instills this crooked fear.

To be insecure and lorn of love,
trapped between the turtle doves,
this icy cage I call this mind,
this hope, this soul, this heart to find.

Basking in the solace of life,
swept across the pools of strife,
searching for what lies above,
the sanctity of a thing called love.

Found among the tattered roofs,
scattered as stability,
have a seat there’s ice to thaw,
so warm me as the city sleeps.

Resting as the shingles and I,
or should I say the shingles and we,
we mirror the midnight ‘scape with prowess
as simple as I am me.

Basking in the solace of life,
swept across the pools of strife,
searching for what lies above,
the sanctity of a thing called love.

Now and again, the senses fail
and all my mind can think is touch
for the warmth of my setting sun has caused
this lingering, this warmth, this perfect crutch.

This necessity I call my strife,
this warmth I call my shining dove.
As Earth and sun disband from one
alone I lay, aflame with love.