We were in a painting, the two of us
She was holding my hand
In the soft glow of our own bodies
And the warmth of her palm
I felt it in my throat, and on my face

We were in a painting, you and me
And the way you lay in my arms
I felt, a stranger in my own home
Who are you, who are you?
In one strange city of love, I found you

before, questions lingered in the air.
weary eyed nights were spent
stuffing yourself into a small box
for someone who only took you
on long, winding, painful paths
where the ends were shrouded
by looming trees and bushes.

now, the air is blissfully clear.
someone smiles when you stretch.
they walk right alongside you.
there may be darkness along the way,
but they will hold your hand through it.
the end of this path is straight ahead -
bright, expansive, and fruitful.

Like, how the way now
Thought grow and glow
Things follow and flow
As in air blow afterglow
The happiness flow slow

The flowers meet as the  
words of thought, the
leaves touch in the
wind, here, you share
the little poems of the
earth with me, I hold
you close under the
sun, we are in each
other arms as a
blanket in a place
where we will both feel
safe and untorn in the
warm amber glow, healing
our sore souls in our gentle
sleep, I will say to you in
silence, “the answer of your
existence is my home”.

For what's a glow but a holy light?