SONG OF WE

Cold feet against my warmth.
She calls me her hot water bottle.
Blonde hair streaming o’er the pillow
Like rays of clear sunlight.

Arms that circle me
And take me home again.
We receive each other's gifts
And the giving is easier than the receiving.

Expanding time becomes our close friend,
And sound becomes suspended.
We ebb and flow within each other
With rhythm, which is made of music.

The bonds that connect us
Are gossamer silk made of adamantine

Dr. John Breeskin, who prefers to be called Sparky

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