He strides on earnest embers, designedly, decidedly.
Charring, searing- his core, his soul.
His hands still clutching that drilled decree,
With a stenciled smile, but those eyes, they told.
Cut, stitched and scarred- cured yet healing,
The wound is gone but the pain is still reeling.
She marvels at the volume of his emotion- so pure,
The wants, the denials, the tepid smiles, they lure.
She strides on earnest embers now, decidedly, designedly.
Exploring, deploring- his core, his soul.
Her hands still missing that deserved authority,
With a ceded chance, she'll melt, she'll mold.
