You are my comfort. And it's cool;
I can take care of myself, I promise.
You are security, wrapped in a blanket,
warm on cold on soft. I swear it's 
an up-side, optional goodness, 
I could take care of myself. You are 
a dream, I'm asleep, lucid, and you 
can do as you like, and I confess,
I want to follow you, wherever your
breeze may whisper. You are the sun
and Copernicus couldn't have known
you were coming and I hope you
last forever, heat death of the universe
be damned. I may die, I admit, 
but I want to go to your heaven, to 
sit at your gates and tell you every way
I lived to walk as your draft animal,
your fated happy mule. And I vow
that I know that any avenue could lead
to any Rome, but your house is
my city of light.

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