“Wick Still Warm”
My hands are washed in crushed myrrh,
my lips steeped in honeyed wine.
I come to you not as mere man, but flame—
and as the hush between temple bells,
eager to exclaim.
You are carved within the dark of me,
like gold pressed into folds of clay.
Your breath is the wind that bends the reeds,
your voice, a river that forges its name
as it currents over me.
Lay down with me
in our garden of first things—
where willow trees lean and stars take note.
Let the moon witness our joining,
and the gods scowl with envy.
I am yours, not for the night,
but for the echo it leaves in our bones.
Your fingers are pilgrims,
tracing the script of my thighs like lost verses.
Each kiss, a translation of fire,
each sigh a psalm tongued over flesh.
I unravel like a scroll in your hands—
unfurled, trembling, unwrinkled.
You read me in cursive,
with the curiosity of a woman
learning braille.
Use me as a chalice
and spill nothing.
We are more than lovers—we are liturgy.
We do more than touch—we consecrate
even as we praise one to the other.
When it is done,
I do not shrink off.
I remain—
an oak still damp with rain.
A candle still warm at the wick.
You leave me reverberating,
my words like frantic birds
pattering upon your ledge.
~~~
Awesome poetry, Styx. I always enjoy your articulation.
Thank you Tim. I’m trying to get away from my long prose pieces and attempt things more poetic. My goal anyway. LOL.
This gives me hints of Egypt and Africa. The chalice is a beautiful offering of self. Love this.
Thanks Fia. That is an interesting comment. Because Del is actually doing a piece of artwork for one of her writes, and the pic has a very obvious nod to Africa.
Beautifully penned, Mark. Incredible imagery my friend, amazing write. Appreciate you.
Damian
Thank you Damian. I already see some slight edits that it needs. LOL.
I usually blurt my writes out like blood from a bad cut. But this one I built. -Trying to step up my game a bit i guess.
Good to see you still kicking it up in here!
And this is why Mark. This is why we write. Impeccable as ever. Tis always been a joy to read you. Do I get an invite to the wedding? A Welshman running loose under U.S of A skies.
Need to share this. It cut me like a blade into the guts, but I have moved on. There will never be enough room in my heart to thank the likes of you and Gary. In redemption, Rob
Ah but Rob, I’m only a two generation back American. My people were boat people. LOL. I enjoy the diversity of cultures, obviously. It is how we progress as humans. Yes? All of my years in the Army further strengthened that belief.
Del and I are not rushing a wedding. And, we just may elope to Vegas when the time comes. So far we are still doing the airplane rides back and forth to see each other. (Jobs, etc… ) But the future is obviously obvious for us.
As for writing, I’m still hacking at what I hope is worthy reads. I look for like-minded writers such as yourself, that are into the crafting of it all. No fluff, no generic porn just for attention. I will take a handful of dedicated writers to surround myself with, because it betters me. It was a reward discovering your own material. And still is. Som thank you for the comradery.
Oh. This read makes me feel like molten lava. Truly. It’s not rushed and had me smiling the whole time I read it. I have not written in a while. Material like this gets me motivated. I wish I had 4 arms! I’d get more work done! Great nod to intimacy honey. This is fantastic! Love you:)
You do not need four arms. You have plenty of awesome bodily abilities just as you are! What!
And hey, you’ve been very busy getting your book done! New writes can wait. You’re accomplishing something epic!
You motivate me! Smooches babydoll!
Reading this poem felt like stepping into a sanctuary where intimacy becomes devotion. Its language carries a quiet heat, dignified yet deeply stirring. “Your fingers are pilgrims” and “read me in cursive” stood out to me as moments of profound connection, not just passion. The closing image, “a candle still warm at the wick,” leaves a soft afterglow – a reminder that some encounters echo long after they’ve passed.
Wonderful comment, Romaj.
I’m finding some keen motivation here in Starsrite, to write what I hope to be quality reads. Include yourself in that motivation. You are a gifted writer.
The “warm at the wick” was my fav idea and carried this write for me. A snuffed candle, yet that served its purpose.
This is an outstanding, passionate and heart touching piece, Styxian! The imagery and the wording are brilliant! I love how you elevate your relationship to a higher spiritual level by using cross references to the divine, like the Psalms or the chalice!
Alas, Sappho, I do not know the exactness of spirituality. I myself lean towards aliens more than religion for a so called higher power. Yet, there is something out there, that makes us elevate our dreams, our thoughts, our love… Religion is handy in that regard.
Sometimes, a relationship seems “heavenly” even. Above our norms. And, reading others’ material seems to steer me at times towards a direction to write about. That’s where good writes come in. It feeds me to try my own. So you keep doing what you do. You’re top tier.
Very muchly enjoyed sir .. Neville 😎👍
I appreciate the nod, Neville. Thank you very much.
My absolute pleasure .. 😎👍
“I am yours, not for the night,
but for the echo it leaves in our bones.” This thought spoke to me Styxian. The whole of the poem did as well. There is a feel of REAL Love, the kind that shares not only the intimacy, but everything that life presents to both of you. A sharing that leads to a hold-fast bond. I don’t think many have this kind of shared connection, or this kind of love. You express it delicately as well as passionately. Really, nicely written Styxian.
-Curt
Actually I dwelled on that part for quite a bit. I changed it a little, changed it back. And here you are highlighting it as a positive. So thank you for reassuring me that it is okay as is.
And I appreciate your comment as a whole, as well.