Fireside Candles

I woo this feeling, sitting in stillness, planted in concentration: you electric life, these two to blend, that deep resonance: us as one, a nation of mystics, as not to utter this word; this dance with chi, that fever of souls, as to meet with fire. We move grayness, as to enrich this feeling, a city thriving through cravings: this intimate touch, infused with kindness, this fortune of love. We sought for tapestries, pulling at curtains, as to unveil mercy: that inner shadow; composed of properties; standing a bit aloof: this selfless love; as fumigating lights; this art as numbness. I felt you thinking—this inner riddle—as to presume this you-ness: that genius tug; this ache of souls; this last mile. It mustn’t be love, as seeing your face, so covered as existential; or more this life, to suddenly glow, this star upon webs. I found our color, fraught with yogic heirs—running as to capture glory. Its madness this strife, struggling through mire, rinsing as to breathe; where love is hidden, this inner project—our minds floating through fantasies: that welkin glance; or hypnotic airs; while reaching for golden gates; this place of souls, this kingdom of wildness, this texture of wisdom. We soar as gems, or crystals, or quartz—seeping into holiness; this space of hearts, flickering as candles, this ark a vest of diamonds. I know this rhythm, as something detached—this personal delivery: our moment to cherish, as a secret friend—this thunder of radiance. It’s true to life, this width between us, as to ensure longevity. I felt us living, sorting through journals, rewriting inner chapters; to see this face, this breadth of light, as casual as morning dew; where love is passion, stored in vessels, unraveled to mirrors