The Fire

The fire churns but I don’t put it out.

I do not even step back from the flame.

At some point this will hurt, I have no doubt,

but when it does, I’ll have myself to blame.

You tut and tell me you don’t feel the same

wildness, the hopeless wildness that grips me

and yet you stick around to play our game.

Meanwhile the flames grow exponentially.

Composing your exquisite poetry,

not noticing your skirt has caught on fire,

you casually enjoy our repartee

despite the tongues that lick up ever higher.

Come closer, lover, hold my hand and burn.

Perhaps we’ve both still got a lot to learn.