Butterflies...
That’s what I feel,
Butterflies or maybe...
Fingertips.
Turning shapes into my skin,
Invisible love notes.

I never liked the smell of smoke,
‘Til I met you.
Now the whole world is thrown away.
Then it’s just you, and me,
And this room...

The ashes could rain down around us,
And I wouldn’t care.
My mind is too busy, drugged with thoughts.
Thousands of tiny little images of what’s to come.

Someone once told me;
“To fall in love with a musician,
Is to hand them a broken heart.
One piece for you to live,
And one to make sure he doesn’t die without you.”

It’s only when I’m with him now,
That I feel whole.
A simple touch from that hand would stand me still.

But if you were to look closely,
The tips of the wings still flutter.
Like the beat of a broken heart,
So close to another.