Interwreathe

When the rays of a small campfire ember find its way to the depths of passion sparking a heat so lustful it’s hard to remember- A time we didn’t fuse, I lay. As that ember dies in the moonlit sky leaving shades of sweat upon the faintly heard tussles of a trampled ground- Hackneyed and abused, I stay. For the fatigued water lays to salt after the dew of a sunrise fog choreographs beauty of love into our own- We coalesce as one recused, I pray; “Please don’t let go and I will fill the muddles of darkness with magical flowing beams through zealous tears that absorb the clouds with hues of reverence both dull and bright”- And simply refuse to breakaway.