The moonlight is not in the sky It rests in the damp curve of your eye Cold silver that burns me through I stand so close, but never touch you The sacred fears the human hand I breathe the pulse on your neck Just millimeters away We stand on a velvet edge Where our naked shadows play We love in a held breath In the silence we spin The absence of my touch Is our most profane sin No skin, no heat Just the gaze we meet No skin, no heat Just the space we keep The silver commands: Look. Burn. Never touch. (Look... Burn...) Never touch. We love in a held breath In the silence we spin The absence of my touch Is our most profane sin
