Silver rings upon your fingers
fingers trace my collarbone
silver’s soft, but gold lingers.
It reminds me of our home.

Where fleeting moonlight filters in,
through old windows veiled in lace,
over sheets, and over skin,
softly caressing your face.

Then, gold pours in once the sun
awakes form dreaming far beneath
a cloudless, moonlit horizon,
and falls like feathers on your cheeks.

An endless dance of day and night,
like hostages, inside we stay,
‘neath rays of gold and silver bright,
with you shall I forever lay.