Your hand pressed against mine
Mirroring palm to palm
The length of your fingers
Make me feel small, vulnerable
Your eyes are like an anchor
Pulling me under; tidal-wave undertow
Last breath confession love – I don’t need you
But when night falls like the heart does
I’ll want you to stay close
Wrapping your arms around me,
Yet your love is like a warm gun,
The metaphor isn’t lost on us
We can keep a candle lit and make a wish
Knowing tomorrow just might fulfill
Nostradamus doomsday prediction
And your whispers sooth the child’s mind
The Bluesman’s steel guitar slide and harp hums
Your promise of tomorrow will never come –
But it does, it always does…until it doesn’t

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