Thursday, June 12, 2014

A Bit of Fire

The old photos of your face
Knives to my chest-
Needles to my eyes-
But it's a beautiful pain,
Nerve endings exposed to an empty air,
Each sleep I take
A premeditated suicide away from the day.

With each dream I awaken
Filled with the loss
Of senses, now but a memory
Etched in your skin.
We are so alive.

But I am weak.
With you
I cannot be strong.
With one touch
I am molten wax
Warming your fingertips,
Desiring
A bit of fire.