Crescendo at the pitch ,
the touch of the octave,
the slide of my ribcage.
Put me on the overdrive
the feel of the rhythm,
beautiful eyes in glimmer.
I can't believe we are back,
on the track and split laps,
the untimed togetherness.
At the start of the race,
where heat and mist rose,
steams in the gush of the ****.
Poised passion rose to the skies,
wetness and action felt so right,
the torrential evaporated rain.
My future lies in your bed,
on the blue walls with graffiti,
away in a continent afar.
Inside the cocoon of a time-space,
irrigated by sprinkles of growth,
where we hum through civilisation.