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I have led him when the day was at its blackest, with clouds tight fisted, no sun to speak of, and took him to the place, where the light went out, holding him by his arm, all the way.
This is not what they mean when they say "die for love", or "burnt by fire," more stem a rising flood that reaches high up to the chin, but does not let one die or drown desire.
His sky has no horizon, volcanoes pile around him spewing fire like dragons. Their silver claws threaten to shred him but they cannot reach. When I call him by his old name,