Here

Out there, it's cold
The wind cuts through the paths
Cunning,winning
Knocking down walls that hide doubtful laughter
Ripping out scabs before their span
Pressing down hurt against the chest 
In your arms there's a warmth
A brilliant maze I was meant to complete
The destination of a desire that was never hidden
A map designed by a trained hunter of treasure
Well polished a million seconds in the pressure
When I need you I feel a tether
A see-through vein that bleeds your heart into mine
A seaside rain that fills the vacant mind

Photo by Max Pok Rie on Pexels.com