Shot from the sky and torn between thumb and forefinger. Astral light.
The smell of fire and bright prisms in your stare. If we're quiet enough, we can hear the drinking of the river.
Feel the heat from our bodies. Still as the trees. The fabric that holds me together. No matter how fragile our minds can be.
The clearing, the purge, the place where you said follow. Framed tightly, we were folded into each other.