These corridors of grey,
and faces of plain,
and just look over there,
there's a funny red stain.

But wait that there is me,
or a part that I've lost,
and I won't even bother,
to start counting the cost.

Lying there is my heart,
beating strong and with love,
for the one I call beautiful,
who colours my day.

So please treasure what you cradle,
in those gentle fingertips,
and keep it close to your body,
so I might feel your warm lips.
-David Sprague