we walk in the mist,
we walk in the cold
you talk about nothing,
I talk about everything
we arrive at a warm fire
we arrive at a hot stew
you set the table,
I pour the champagne
and
then
the ice wine
Poetry | Stories | Photography
we walk in the mist,
we walk in the cold
you talk about nothing,
I talk about everything
we arrive at a warm fire
we arrive at a hot stew
you set the table,
I pour the champagne
and
then
the ice wine
Touch my cold parts
warm my refrigerated heart
Take me on a journey
flam throw me with your love
Touch my aged skin
be my fire in the winter dark
From deep within
her fire resides a
superheated love
ready to erupt
He sets the once
dormant volcano
into overdrive as
the pyroclastic
love suffocates
him again
and again
a pretty girl, always so calm
until he takes the piss
once too often
placid and sweet
demeanour turns
to prickles and
bristles as the
fire
flares out to
burn his skin
putting out her
fire is his favourite
pastime, which she loves so
A lover of the incendiary one,
the one who burns her shell and clears away
the old to make way for the new.
Rain doused the fire;
now green buds shoot up new life from
beneath the darkness.
a silent glance
we meet
a slight smile
you fidget
a soft red flush
I stir awhile
a sharp longing
eyes meet
as
we both
fall into
the fire
of love