The House on the Cliff

An ember revives itself with a gust of wind
As does a man who revives himself with her soft touch
The liqueur on his floor is no longer there
Along with the cigarette tray on the maple mantle 

The sea now clashes gently with a soothing crash
Instead of tossing the man from his railing
The rats have turn to mice, chattering beneath the floorboards
Now the house creaks in harmony to the dancing in the den

He could've been the once at the bottom of the sea
but the rocks from the cliffs did it for him
The knives in the kitchen could be inside his skin but yet they sit, untouched.
While her lips move softly, he's not listening but waiting.
As if the world would grant him powers to give her everything.

Like the house on the cliff, 
Never dying until they did.