a still night beholds in its arms
an eerie cold breeze.
it skulks across the room
hoping to find home.
in the warmth of your lips,
it finds its flame
and thus, it rests, it rests beside the bewitching luminosity.
this forbidden touch
reminds it of how
mere proximity quenched its eternal thirst of belonging.
how some bonds blossom
devoid of intersection.
how some nights dictate
that the general precept be dissociated coexistence.

/kritika.