Like sinews and sutures,
Our bodies interlock,
Separated only by our breath.

Softer skin would be a liquid,
and softer eyes would be transparent.
A softer smile would be a kiss,
experienced by sight.

An arm, a clutch, your fingers crossed,
with words I lie here as I lay.
And in our words are we so lost,
but "we" is how we'll find our way.

A forest waiting to be cleared,
Impending doom for innocence,
Our kisses and our thoughts appear
Already dying, in a sense.

But senses don't deceive themselves,
Like light which yonder breaks.
Morning brings me mild mourning:
It's you the daytime takes.

So stay in spirit, tangled one,
Or overstay your stay.
And no more mourning will be found,
If we have our way.