Quiet nights and cold sheets
Sting. And a dinner for one
Fouls the tongue. Walks alone,
Talks alone with the voice in my head,
And soft songs strummed to empty rooms.
Without love – without light,
So even the night strains
To see. But there is comfort.
In the depthless dark and weary
Cold, a fire flickers. Through its shifting
Flames, a couple dances
With lips red, kisses hot,
And hearts ablaze. Their burning tongues
Kindle my memories, and spark
A thirst for more. And in the fire,
Swaying still,
I see you and me.
He Who Wanders 