The Birth of Repair

The wind blows in shapes of waves that mirror the smiles of your face.

The breeze entangled in your photons burns my cheeks to a shine.

The tight glow off my sunburnt skin echoes your vibrations that draw me in.

The insides of your innermost private domains keep me from escape velocity.

The end of my transcendence in exchange for your erotic presence.

Fertilized by the soil of our despair, lust births our repair.