Fuse

Standard

 

This skeletal frame

burns bright

This not quite

sacred flame

alight under

the dark heaven

The still night air

Even the call,

Not quite a call

to prayer

So, enfold my waist

This man

These arms and hands

This tight embrace

more fierce than

painted foe

or charcoal ember;

These arcs, these arms

in flickering

dreams remembered.

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