Heat rises.

Embers and fires, they begin in the darkest places among soot and dirt, and they work and breathe, snake and seethe as they reach the sky. To lick the cold night air, a silent prayer among crackling wood and dancing lights.

Tongues of orange reach new heights as the flames revel in the sweet sheets of oxygen, confidence pushing and heaving glowing shapes into the vacuity of space. Bright burning sheafs begin a chase, swirling to a beat of their own pace – the crickets of forest and the breath of the wind, so cool and crisp.

Similar to your love, the heat of your passion, the kind that lines the mind, erasing gray feelings of ashen, lacing together semblances of sorrow and pain until it means something.

We are here to feel, kneel to inhale the veil of precious humanity, so we rise, sever ties, compromise to accept our mistakes and breathe easy.

We whisper secrets, a dreaming helix
of when, together, we rise
like a phoenix.

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