Here I pine
tying loose ends
you say you're mine
I have but to claim you

In the mean time
burning bridges
I hear the chime
as if chewing sinew

I know you're mine
we've walked the line
picking old tines
paying fines

So close,
a smell yet not taste
time slows
until hands laced

Penned by my hand on the 11th of Scarlatan, in the year 638 AF.