Your name is on my lips at the first light of dawn,
by Frank Witte
and by the time the last rays of starlight are gone,
my mind still moves under memory's soothing spell
of words, gestures and an evening spent well.
I packed a bag and moved silently out of my way,
no justifications, no plans, nothing clever left to say,
I paced one foot in front of the other on this path
of words, gestures and a calculus of love's math.
My body was lifted beyond the highest clouds,
under an eternal sun among greyish shrouds,
it sped hastilly on a relentless heartbled course
charted in my blood by nature's most primal force.
Your voice was the first in metropolis to call my name,
although I knew not whether it was sin or just shame,
that caused my soul to slow down in phrasing a reply
concerning the eyes and heart to which it would apply.
Now what awaited me every single day since my return,
is that yearning for restraint within the fire in which I burn,
for what is pure and frail and still without any unholy taint
should never be left unguarded to be abused and stained.
For I'ld rather lose my life than be guitly stealing your hand,
I'ld rather lose my innocence than forget where it is I stand,
Because close to your face I see my reflection in your eyes
and sensing your breath I know this mirror truly never lies.
And so your name is on my lips at the last rays of twilight,
and passes into dream as the first stars have come to sight,
and my mind still moves under memory's soothing spell
of your words, your gestures and our evening spent well.
And soon I pack a bag and move silently out of my way,
having no justification, no plan, nothing clever left to say,
I faced one root of love in the honesty of such a path
through a world that treasures the algebra of love's math.