We sank in sands freckled red in sunsets and
Our hands danced like the swirling plumes
Wrought by tides
I suppose there's a time and place to write of
Love, so wouldn't this be one of those times?
One of those places?

We sank in oceans freckled red in sunsets and
Our hands danced like the swirling plumes
Wrought by drowning
I suppose there's a time and place to write of
Death, so wouldn't this be one of those times?
One of those places?

What is to be solidified in imminence?
The Nothing or The Everything?