I wake up to the sounds of your murmuring dreams,
pretending I can get through this life without your eyes on me.
Only the walls of my room knows what is real is not what is seems,
at every corner of my dark heart is your shadow I see.

Careless scribblings on the desert sands are not my tales,
that I write about my past with a violence of a dying tree.
Your touch lingers on in the form of ships with high sails,
flowing through my memories, desperate and free.

Your presence feels like a bonfire on a cold, stormy December night,
warming and burning everything that my past could conjure.
Rises from the embers, your love’s omniscient light,
to speak truths of the world that only lovers can endure.

Through the cracks of my desolate bedroom windows,
which I never learned could be opened to view a world full of charms.
Beams of a radiant sun leaves behind a magical afterglow,
all of which emanate from the warmth of your welcoming arms.