... it's a funny ol' thing that when you set out to write one poem, another one takes its place... This is one such poem! :)) xx

TALKING WITH FLAMES


Sitting close, I allow your
rosy fingers to read the Braille
of my face, to tread its boards
of memory enlivened by
your soft-glow lights.

My greying embers crackle,
shift; sift their flaky stories
into the blue, transparence
you so eagerly consume.

Greedy for my secrets,
you scissor my silken darkness
and slink through my shadows –
jealous of their cool, moist black
elusive of your fever.

Lapping edges of my night,
you coast my silhouette,
drift over me like dawn breath
rising from a freely-running stream…

I am water, your life is air;

together we’re a sizzling mist
whose language cannot be mastered,
whose whispering babble unspoken
is vaporous yet complete.

As you coax, seduce,
I’m restless: increasing damp,
unable to burn.