I want to run my fingers through your hair,
breathe in your thick mountain air,
and love is love, I do declare,
my heart lives in your doleful stare.

Your sweet voice I have yet to hear,
imagining it’s tinged with hope and fear,
but I will hear it by the end of the year,
sweet and sultry distant and near.

It’s your face I dream in darkest night,
when all is lost, this blinded sight,
but soon will come the dawn’s fire light
and illuminate again my world so bright.

I have never felt this content before,
even reading those mythologies and lore,
for no longer am I begging for more,
I hear you knocking at my door.