Through the shadows of a weary night,
two paths cross despite the fog.
He slows to a stroll,
she merges her pace with his,
and they clasp one another
in deeply aching recognition.
Around corners they traverse,
speaking joy and sharing light,
until an entrance hovers,
its mouth veiled with mossy linen.
Within, scenes grown from coal
give birth to brilliant shades of passion,
while hues and shapes dance wildly
to the beat of rhythmic hearts.
Walls lean in, with candles lined,
to bring to light one shifting world.
And ceiling weeps dense drops of wet dismay
when paired pools of dreams burn dry.
Through the shadows of a weary night,
two paths trudge back to their separate sides.
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