weaving, molding
shaping power.
Beneath the moon
All things must sour,
But bless this union,
this act of love.
on this cold night
we light the fires above.
As breath climbs higher and passion grows
bless us in one of your sacred groves.
twisting and turning,
mingling and churning
heart beats rapid
creeks no longer placid.
power mounting
power growing
stars live and die
to our passion exploding
...peace
...calm
finaly quiet
Comment
I love it.
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