The scent still lingers on my fingertips
Of days and nights and houses on fire
We are the nostalgia of nothing that tires
A metaphoric phrase amongst the most literal of days
The poise and the name will always remain
My recent awakening, a beast nonesuch
And our mothers never knew as much
A stroke, a glance, a branded touch
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So we dance within this hourglass
As if time is whipping by
For we neither have such a thing to waste
Nor are the fools to turn awry
We’ll continue these weightless rounds
Our limbs contently extended and sound
Tongues that talk of shapes and escapes
Oh, the routes we’ll take