two pieces of flint threw themselves without restraint into
each others dark chalky side
chafing across the surface
identical to their own
they’d grown up with the fireplace in the mornings and late nights
watching the pile with an accustomed eye
and each knew there was a part of
making the translucent heat they were made for
they were capable of
more than just the moving
more than living close to an attractive warmth-making match
but burning and whispering secrets more precious than this
was the fire
ready for the two of them to know
how hot and holy it grew

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