This reunion of the 'bruising flame' and 'threadbare hem'
You remind me of
autumn's splendour, you winter guest.
A hem made of wedding lace.
Important and sacred universal laws.
I dare to breathe you in,
your dragon-cave, Mikale.
In your eyes, I am home.
I am sanctuary. Harvest.
Neil Armstrong's moon landing,
thunder and lightning in a
rainstorm, You're right. I'm wrong. I'm right.
You're wrong. You're all
baggy like winter. You're
falling-falling like gravity's
obesity. You're a melting pot of volcano,
of moonlight in near-darkness.
You're 'bruising flame'.
I'm 'threadbare hem' caught with needle and thimble.
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