No ceilings here; the pure high air is sweet,
Gently drifting over a crimson stream,
Lips meet neck above a sea of concrete,
Sailing soft and smooth through valleys of cream.

Secondhand shine might make the best street light,
And beyond her shoulders, stars seem lit gems.
But do I dream if all fades with the night?
Arrogance takes the heart and leaves the limbs.

For the head grows wiser when it's alone,
And deprived eyes see lies on lips like crumbs.
I hope to split open her heart, that stone,
Live there and be the broken song she hums.

I can see her now: stung lips, legs like May,
Dusk in her eyes, "Love me like this" she'll say.