It is dark and silent.
Candle lights swinging in awe,
in respect to two dancing shadows.
They represent an everlasting sensation,
covered with lustful legitimacy,
and an endless thirst for a revolution against moderation.
They speak an unspoken language,
only known to their special coexistence.
The touches, breaths, and whispers,
dominate the brutal conversation,
perfumed with a passionate aroma.
They both enlighten the night,
with owl-like sparks,
which further electrify the passing seconds.
It is brutality in its most passionate forms,
indifferent to its sadistic moments
because of one convincing reason: