If your fingertips
are feathers,
and my chest is
the sky,
and our hearts
beat wild,
as a dove learns
to fly;

Would you take away
my breath,
like a gunshot in
the evening,
whisper in
my ear,
soft words
screaming;

Would we melt into
the twilight
night sky entwined
with feathers,
our cheeks burning
bright as
the most passionate
of weathers;

Would we flutter through
that linen,
singing songs of
burning love,
and into that
night sky,
fly as graceful
as a dove.