The First Time We Fell, On The 4th

Brie and I sit on the balcony, sharing a bottle of wine.
It’s the end of summer, the wind is warm and so fine.

My arm around her, she rests her head upon my shoulder,
I kiss her head, her cheek, this dark night grows so much colder

 The Fort is full of revelers shouts, thumping music, noise.
The song and dance of love and sex, of girls chasing boys.
 We talk about this movie we watched together, the deep truth,
and beginning of feelings, after shooting fireworks of the roof.
 I ask her, will she be my woman, my lover, my mad eyed muse.
Kissing my softly, she says this is paradise, and The Serpent is loose.
 The revelers going on, the dull roar of the city, the darkness of lust,
she takes me by the hand, leads me to bed, and in passion we trust.
 Morning, I wake in her arms, and it’s still dark, though now it’s all still.
The night is death and the sweetest loss, filled with a cold, snarling will.
 She is soft, she is warm, and the fruit was eaten, before, and will be again.
The Serpent is the guarntor of paradise, and the madly broken always win.
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