And today, when I still stroll up to my favorite place

(The one on the cliff where I can see the turning trees and the distant mountaintops)

I remember so clearly us dancing, closely, with fingertips splaying about bodies.
To the limits of what's justifiable--and what's wrong is not what is, but what cannot be your promises are music to me, they incense me, and I feel empty.

Because after these moments I know what it means to be full.
{Con't}
For I can feel the pull of your polar heart.

And while it is easy to stand some 12 odd stories high; practically gods among a private sky, seeing the motes who are people below (so insignificant) I am forced to recognize the urgency of a clock and how nothing like this could last anyhow before reality rushes back and reclaims the modernity of pleasure.