I am sometimes too overcome with lust and distance to remember that the lips I yearn for smile sweetly, speak from the mind, reason from the heart, and can be as still as ice floes waiting for a sense of the sun. In those moments of realization there is a calming sense of sorrow. No longer am I the old boy, the wanderer lost. I am left in a new place where my own lips are exposed to the elements. In her embrace I feel the cold give way to warmer waters. The ice beneath vanishes until there we float alone and count the days with a kiss at sunrise.