I can climb a mountain on a spring morn,
touch clouds, look down on jets soaring under.
I have cracked jokes since the day I was born,
never mourned, or stomped by rolling thunder.
I’ve always been the calm before the storm
and fine idle, waiting for it to pass,
but looking in your eyes, all soft and warm
they stomp me and I transform into brass
from gold, see your lips and my brain is goo
I can’t even confess you’re beautiful,
how I long to lean in slow and kiss you
the words hot on my mind won’t form at all
and now, wordless, I walk toward your gaze
through the tempest’s bolts for a thousand, thousand days.
