Is the onset to a beating heart
That through the shouting voice,
Still remains so red.
No diminishment,
Nothing extinguished
Of the surface, where I place my hand
To hold that which
I know is the fullest you.

For I forgive you
Upon matters, that would only ignite
Flames that could be only fanned,
Upon the triviality of a shouting voice,
Upon the battering of hands against a head
In frustration, for words were only lead
To the mouth, opened for their exposure.
A love, like this
Runs for miles of heated weather.

We are not exhausted,
Never to be
So much unlike kindling
When we take to ourselves
In our time of strain
To bleed
Ourselves, in welcomed pain.
Love, the confusion,
While us, the fusion.

We forgive so much fire
Welcomed in our tears,
Like to say we had hurt the other,
Though begin to bind ourselves
In the bandages we call our arms,
To soothe the pressure of a wound
With our stares.

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