Dust blows in my hazy star-gazing eyes.
Tell me which songs you play over and over.
Quietly marching in long grasses, these gazelle legs.
I ask for nothing more than to be held up, without asking.
Safe with your watching husk.
You are fuelled by mine, my universe, my one.
Our dream tempo drones on and we tilt a little nearer.
Play that demo once more, or for as long as others still exist.
Making me drift clearly, alert to incoming birdsong.
In it, in it, in it and not all together.
Belief in some furiously romantic thing is easily bruised.
Repeat this soundtrack back to me.
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