Friday, August 01, 2008

Press your hands against mine.
I miss your warmth.
The nights are so cold here.
The chill is set in my bones.
Place the kindling under my toes.
Build the fire right.
A little wind,
Now - not too much -
To give it life.
Press your lips to mine
Once more.
I've missed your tenderness.
The binds are loose,
Like you thought I'd walk away.
Oh dear,
You mustn't worry so much.
There, now, can't feel a thing.
Close your eyes, love,
If it's too much.
And I'll close mine, too.
I can feel it already -
The warmth is building
As the fire climbs.
Let go now, dear.
I'm finally comfortable enough
To die on my own.


Blogger Lysa said...

I love this imagery! Especially because it twists together with the thought of witches being burned at the stake, in my head... which makes me all the more curious.

8:19 AM  

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