Every heart sings a song, incomplete, until another heart whispers back.
Those who wish to sing always find a song.
At the touch of a lover, everyone becomes a poet. -Plato
in the hours of early morning
in the days of springtime passing
in the winters of our hunger
For even heaven loves me
in its flashes of light
that melt the night
and set my world on fire
I am love
in the dark and the light
I am love with every breath
each time I call our name
in its flashes of light
that melt the night
and set my world on fire
I am love
in the dark and the light
I am love with every breath
each time I call our name
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