Photo: Jeanne Rene Watson Follow him into the fire I wrote Follow him . . . and not care if I came out again Barely breathing with his kiss . . . and barely living without it in the back of the pick-up the stairs the attic beat-up old oldsmobile the beach sizzling against the chill . . . licking the salt water tears . . . falling from crashing waves against our loneliness Follow him into the fire . . . tracing tattoos exposed . . . dancing for my delight in the park under sun and shade free inside the flame free from the world Follow him into the fire screaming with life joined and divided apart from our passion the days lost in melody days sipping solitude . . . the winding of the river . . . the mirage in the desert the licking of salt water tears from the scattering of dust upon our loneliness Follow him into the fire fanning the flames . . . under the shadow of the mountain eyes locked upon the heart upon the hold in front of our window our world Follow him into the fire I write Looking up from my book . . . an easy night in front of the flames a tired body a weary mind a steady heart beats . . . arms crossed against his chest . . . holding trust and comfort . . . away from the tides of loneliness Barely noticing the weight of my kiss against the weight of time I find a pillow for his head . . . the cat finds his lap Follow him into the fire I wrote . . . and not care if I come out again Copywrite jeanne rené watson