Gently drifting on woven clouds,
I hear your voice whisper "sleep"
in its soft tenor tone.

There's music there, in the southern-tinged
eloquence, colouring the vox with sunset hues.

There's peace there, in the ever-knowing arms
that entwine from far away, across desks and
under doors, above light posts and pressing against
the window.

Your heart is a room with open doors, painted
gold by the setting sun. There's every way in and
no way out, and a breath will take you there, to
a place where love isn't measured by kisses but by
depth of connection. Your heart cannot exclude; only exude
this strange-kind-of-love, an eternal fire where
nothing is consumed.

So sleep, my love, rest your head.
I'll be there to whisper to you another day.