My skin is just a tender cloak
I can take it off and hang it up
The moment I step into our sacred space
Our bed is my church and sanctuary
Love is such a stale and weightless word
For the volcano that exists in the core of me
And bleeds and sighs and creates for you
Over and over, without a single thought
Just heat, intensity, a field of wildflowers
It is there we lay, barely existing
Passionately devoid of a care
Because our adoration is the temple
where we praise of destiny