Posts Tagged ‘fire’

Kiss Me and See

Posted: September 16, 2015 in Love Poems
Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

I am the ember

to your flower;

but I can’t stay red,

and you won’t remain evergreen.

Let’s use each other up

while time allows

our beauty to be seen.

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Wrung from my Eyes- tears-

shed with Love’s decay.

Spring blew forth a Spark,

which roared to Flame one day.

 

Sparks now dance in my Eyes,

the Flame within my chest-

I breathe, it rises,

and will until I- Rest.

The Spirit- with Her fire Wings-

tries Her very best

to fly upward to my mind,

‘stead of beating ‘neath my breast.

Something of majesty,

the forest encapsulated

in this tiger’s eye.

 

Lithing its snow-white feet

in my dreams, against murk

of jungle. Flames of pelt fly,

 

cinders soaring

to ignite this shadowland.

Morning is not nigh,

 

but fear before this

blazing beast

would be wise to flee.

Where the bronze fire of your skin

almost seared my flesh,

there are, instead, these pale

pink petals giving me my identity-

separate from you.

It’s strange to think

about what connections we have forged,

conversations forming details like pearls-

your personality, my personality-

and yet our faces and our bodies are 

only vague memories,

more than shadows but

less than silhouettes.

I speak to you

and you rekindle an old

schoolboy joy, a feathery giddiness

in me.

It’s a strange thing…

perhaps when we meet the old bird

will finally settle down and hum, content,

in my chest. Or else

a glimmer of recognition

will set its plumage ablaze,

my flesh will burn dark pink,

my breath will come in smoke;

then you’ll turn away in fear,

or douse me to pale, regular color,

and extinguish the terror of the bird 

with the waters of your eyes. 

“As it has been said: 

Love and a cough

cannot be concealed.

Even a small cough.

Even a small love.” ~ Anne Sexton, Small Wire

                                *

Winter is the time I fashion clothes out of fire-

snow bites my cheeks so, and I feel

unloved. 

When desire comes about

I grab onto it, and hook it into my chest,

and knit warm and heavy shirts out of its thread,

and I burn red.

In Winter I am this

vulnerable beacon of burning love.

I am exposed to the elements.

The flames are in danger of going out,

I will be left naked in the cold.

But if I clutch the threads to my heart,

and if I invoke the name of my desired one,

my heart burns, and the fires roar;

though winds rage

I am protected by these flames.