From the Embers
Tomorrow is an idle place stripped of recollection, passage to an unmarked grave awash in good intentions.
Memories defy the clock, breach the shadow's veil, spring anew from ashen beds suspended in my mind.
I stir the embers, feel the warmth that cannot be denied, when stars and lovers, hand-in-hand, stroll through summer nights.
I listen as the laughter there echoes down the halls and youth returns to piroeutte between the passive hands.
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