Not such a familiar place,

or anything that has been known.

A brush, a touch, delicate like lace,

quivering water, disturbed by the smallest stone.

Hiding from the curses being thrown,

carefully stepping over those who have stumbled.

Stealing glances every chance, knowing eyes,

velvet fingertips and pure hearts,

a chance to hold on, to run away from goodbyes.

Spend forever together, before the melancholy starts.