Please, do not tell me our love is like the glow of some eternal moon; a cold, hard rock light years from here where we lay in the summer grass with the crickets and dirt under our nails and bare feet. And do not compare what we feel for each other to infernos or licking candles, matches flicked and sparkling in the night; But allow the embers from our campfire to smoke and smolder, burning our marshmallows black as the sun rises.
