sparrows.

our passions but a whisper -
carried upon the wings of every sparrow in the sky.
they gift us solace upon the winds,
carry it to our unresting ears and eyes.
to our desire so present, laced with lust and sweat
keeping the river desire from ever running dry.
it flows down every mountain, it surrounds you and me.
the river flows faster as it comes down your thigh
and finally drains into the ocean of devotion
where so many lovers renounced emotions lie.
from up in heaven the seraph angels sing -
harmonised by each individual sigh
and crescendos with the seraphs final, smothered cry.

from heaven these hymns soar down, like songbirds from a tree.
swept away by the winds, towards the tempest of antipathy
but instead picked by sparrows and carried to lull us both to sleep
their voices like a drug, addictive and mysterious,
like a needle to a vein, the notes dig in deep
but acting like a medicine; mending lover's banes -
imprinted on our chests, the songs that angels weep
and in our induced dreams we see them,
make an agreement they plan to keep -
they'll sing a verse for every hour that we've lost sleep.