The compass spins beneath your touch,
A trembling needle, sweet but wrong.
North fades away, craving too much,
South humming your name in foreign song.
Your laughter drips like melting wax,
Stinging my skin, I let it scream.
We kiss in rooms where shadows pass,
And call it love when it’s just greed.
The path curves on, the stars look pale,
Each sign we pass is written twice.
Your hand is warm, your stories stale,
But I still gamble on the dice.
If stars were mine, I’d spend them fast,
On one more kiss, slow-motioned and true.
But darling, broken glass cuts deep at last,
And still my heart points back to you.
