Sulfur: Clash of Domination

the smell
of a good burn
strikes bearing a
literal resemblance
to cleansing the exhausted
copper veins, alchemical elevation
of the soul at 9600 feet,

the air is thin,
oxygen scarce,

the match slow to strike,
even slower to burn,
the flame in this
altitude profane,

culminating the
gunpowder plot,
metaphorically
exploding a direct
order,

flames of
contention
lick the arcane,

predisposition
raised to an art
form, enigmatic,
combustible, and
at that moment, on
the edge of defying
a request, clash of
domination.

© Ms. Sage Sweetwater, firebrand lesbian novelist