A Thousand Cuddles

Let the curtains slumber,

I have no wish to see the sunrise.

All my constellations

And all my daybreaks

Are reflected in hazel eyes

That turn gold in the sun.

Thirty years under the bridge,

Does it lead to a swamp?

Or joyful, playful tumbling

Sweeping us ever onward

To a glorious sea?

Let me watch another moonrise

From the memory

Of a thousand cuddles

That are never, never enough.