Two can make the love of dreams when they are passing wines Two can sit on languid times when they have nothing left to pine There's nothing left that we can do beside the separation of the glue Until the magnet pulls us back and absence gives us slack The salt of moments mixing cup and sweeter touches timed to act Roads and winters waiting up that hold of love that wins the tact The fresh, the fire, winning cracks of our desire rushing back We come again to find ourselves entirely without our heads ...and summer beats again our hearts to live like this, this momentary bliss