Our little place.

 

Once again
arms unbend under clothes too tight
stripping away any disguise,
so crimeless

 

like children,
and pure and innocent and bright;
just when the Sun is prone to rise
we're homeless.

 

Once again
a solution is still out of sight
when love's too strong to restrain
the cure is the illness

 

and the shame
becomes the light in to the night
of all our choices constrained,
experiencing fullness;

 

in the microcosm we created
all the rest is underrated.