Early spark & saunterthe morning stalksa warmed-up,chilled-outflowering,  first...this heat(more like a buzz)all through the night:a zephyr-frozenspear of lightspits the stoneon a space ofwavering daysstabbing westwardgrowls for hopethrough a howling gustwhere the darkness stretchesthought & prayersfor old friendsI should've had...

Vulnerable... My wax-like existence  in the presence of your flame makes my eyes drip with tears.   This constant bleeding of my soul... This neverending torment... My waxy soul will sometimes  avoid the world's flame,   and my running tears will dry. And my wax figure will be silent... tears dried...

I am lost in the flame, all burnt up. With a fire lit beneath my palm, And at the fingertips, I aim true to twist and turn my delight, Upside down, lost in her beckoning sight It’s her hot-lipped fire I see all around   Yet...

She turns her naked back to me.She is not rejecting me.She is inviting me in.She knows it.I know it.We begin the dance.Horizontally, but a dance nonetheless.My fingers stroke her skin and rummage through her tussled hair.They shift to her...