I have always
In my deepest of nights,
Yearned for that which
Cannot be burned
Of my heart,
Where words are the sentencing
To another demise,
Outside of the reach
Of your extended eyes
Of a gaze that fathom the miles
Ahead of myself.

Straight to your eyes,
Straight to the sunrise
Blanketing the morning
Of its gray, Autumn withering.
I stream down your long arms
To a puddle, formed for me
To see your caving figure
Of a home, to call my home,
Of a heart to open itself
Like a door.

Like the ways
Ahead, to your stagnant gaze
I can find everlasting belonging
Upon the taste of your mouth,
Upon the grasp of your cheek,
In places I am sure to be weak,
In worlds lighted by stains upon the road,
With horses to ride, from where life flows.

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