Novel are the eyes,
That look and not admire,
Willful respite to which I retire.
Comfortable are the hands,
That touch unburdened
By ardor and
Otherworldly command.
And how did I long, my love
For that it was not so
And the novelty was normal,
And the comfort was intimate.
Caresses soft as verdant leaves
Brought forth smiles radiant
Hands and fates interweaved
I woke up and you were there still
Dreams were sweet but not quite
As knowing in your embrace I'd always be
Oh lover mine