Destined
             are our two souls
     found between light and dark,
          so tender is this certainty
                      of fate.

        When the Sun finally rose,
           delicate hearts didn't
                   burn to ash.

         Sharing deep confessions
             that grow these hearts
                         to one.

          May loving be our reason
                        for living.

        I ask that you warm my heart,
            soften my rigid walls and
                    bend my pride.

            From a blight of nothing
                    is everything
              to morph otherworldly
                            in all
                      that is desire.                                        Jon York   2021