Into the night they travel.
Some nights they meet late and in secret
Laying down into their words,
Surrendering to the music that must be heard.
The skyline is rich with stars,
Or foggy with the drip of willow tears.
They travel to Italy down cobble streets
Too skinny for the diameter of their presence.
Spain, sensitive to even their slightest kiss
While toying espresso cups on porcelain saucers.
Humidity licks their face as the hands of the pacific
Roll melodic to Central American breezes.
Through the night they travel.
Meeting in the cedar house leaking with rain,
Wine in steel cups know their beloved gaze.
Tomorrow begins quiet and clear while
Wind blows gold across her face as he squints
At the glare surrounding the dawn of future days.