Her howling heart,
as yours does not,
your love is gone,
so then should mine
melt in the fire of a still night.

Weeks will pass into months,
and our degenerating beacon
of love will have died,
into a spark. Less than the spark
which caught my eye,
the day our love ignited.

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Her howling heart,
as yours does not,
your love is gone,
so then should mine
melt in the fire of a still night.

Weeks will pass into months,
and our degenerating beacon
of love will have died,
into a spark. Less than the spark
which caught my eye,
the day our love ignited.

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