The fire smoldered, just enough fuel
from her anger to keep it alive.
The grey of his eyes
was like fog touched with icy fingers
of moonlight.
Perhaps this age would go on forever.
Tearing down our solidity.
Something we thought was so secure...
Her nails were like blood.
A beauty that glistened in the light.
A clash of personality took its toll.
And both were broken in silence,
by the secret desire to touch.
The tree looked scarred, and indeed it was,
scarred by fire.
Yet no matter how black the trunk,
it still managed to have the most beautiful blossoms.
And in the night touched with cold and wet
When the moonlight shone down,
There was a always the memory.
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