in your stare, rests the key to a nocturne; a soultorn sonata, born in the night; upon your lips, an inferno does burn; a bonfire that promises pure delight

a flare, your image etched into my sight; your sketch of perfection, dripped down my soul; a sense of falling, from perilous height; regaining purpose, by losing control

depth of this river will swallow me whole; as the smoke billows from your mouth of fire; drowning or burning, i shall pay that toll; ash on the face of this lake of desire

in the silence, i hear your voice calling; to your pomegranate lips, i’m falling