Fingers, are they not rays of sunshine,
or at least so delicate,
your finest lover, if her or his were crushed?
is it not so much more a travesty?

These simple vines, strumming until they're embedded,
beating with a soft but forceful start,
all for the finality of a drop,
that begins where the heart stops.

a goodbye to eyes, an eternal recess from the light,
you **** the chorus in our minds,
hoping that either one of us finds,
you again.