Your promises are wintry sunrays, Streaming into my pupils Through the festival of skyscrapers. Here on the road, Cold gray stones are lying still, To be caressed by your mustard gold, Saying, "Hold." And I'm holding, Moving yet clinging to your song, Like gravity admires every moment The tangibility of earth, The way sensibility overflows from Its liquefied core. Peaceful easy feeling surrounds me Whenever you open your lips. Voice, subtle and slow Paint my walls with a glow that only Speaks to snowflakes. And I collect them, thinking How they will melt on your hidden skin That is so pale and bright At the same time. Patience it is, Between us, letting me draw words One after another, Letting me hope that I can make you come back To a home, that has no ceiling no floor, Only arms, Constantly ricochetting The pure silence of my prayers.