I want to cough on your smoke
and press your hot wax into the pads of my fingers --
So heat is transferred. So I tear.
When I'm sick, I want your light to color my face and hands.
Maybe someday, you'll color the face and hands of two
Glowing in the reach of your brushpaint flame.
And when the time comes,
When you burn out,
I promise to hold you
running water --
head to foot --
And listen to your sharp last hiss
With the same fervored reverence as a shared lost kiss.
I'll smile and nod at what we both once were;
Then underhand you into the trash
And pour a drink to watch the night coming in.
The house will remain dark tonight.
For you, I will reflect without a flame.
Mike, this is awesome...very moving.
the candle metaphor is exquisite and perfect,as are the emotions that it represents. You really captured your hearts intent in this piece.
so sadly beautiful.
take care, jm
...when you walked into the room, I saw their faces,
you made it feel like time was standing still...and I felt fascination...
then you turned and smiled in my direction...
and my heart...gave me away.