We steal away to Caithness, for to see the fabled lore,
Your hand in mine, my heart in yours as we begin to soar;
Whatever we may find there, it cannot be something more
Than that magic we’ve found ourselves when e’er our bodies meet.
Our lips together cause a warmth we often must repeat,
Tender embraces shared as fresh as any summer sweet.
And though our self-exploring is still mostly incomplete,
Let us to Caithness make haste, the muse and the troubadour.