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.
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