Cold February. Heated furnace.
And you, my dear, refuse to sleep.
And lights across the window sweep,
And droplets freeze upon its surface.
My eyes meet yours. We dim the lights.
And suddenly, as one, we’re breathing
My hands, around you, interweaving,
I recollect the gone-by nights.
My heart is burning, -- raging wild!
“My dear, I’m ready to confess...”
You place your hand upon my chest,
And softly whisper, “save it, child...”