the fire I didn’t lit,
it is dancing-playing in your eyes.
I look at the tongues-flames;
two candles.
one is for me,
& one is for you,
for that fruit you ate;
hungry? – no,
you liked it’s immodest redness.
I recognize that spark,
same primal spark,
back then.

the fire grows.
the feast has begun;
flames devour our intertwined bodies.
growing higher,
tickle Heaven’s heels.
Independence Day? – no, just the end of the summer

later that night,
I keep the fire burning.
by gently blowing
onto embers,
they’re thankfully winking back to me;
firefly’dly spark
& hissingly disappear
into the river
of your dream


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