For the lover, the beat between her and him is swung. He rolls his heart around atop his tongue, as its words float softly to her. She breathes in the streams of serendipity as they coddle the flow from this moment to the next, bending the day to night before them. Through muted syllables in a low lit room. His message is swung, as a splattering of poetics, lit by the very fire that raises the hairs along his spine when he's in her gravity. It perks her understanding, blooming after dark, a Queen of the Night.
