a sizzling glade of warm blankets that house a snaking pair of cold limbs trying to find a spot that'd hold them for the rest of the night.
In a hidden cotton labyrinth rest folds of assuring flame, granting an obliging refuge in pockets of residual bodily heat.
Tonight's fabric sepulcher is brought to you by deathless demand to be swaddled in fervent fire
To metamorphose into a skin branding that'd forever bind me to a flesh for eternal kiss.
A rooted microwave, distributing heat caked under soft billows of pillowy duvet; midnight urn to hold ashes of dead dreams and aborted nightmares, scattered freely in shrouded sleep.
Hearts
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