Posted by: scintillatingspeck | November 7, 2012

A cold wind.

A cold wind.  Harbinger of the tempest, the snow about to spit on my wood pile.
In the bitter night, I seek heat- the blazing stove, the words that burn.
It’s a lengthy fall to the bottom of my heart, that final chamber
where the blood surges with tongues of flame.
I stoke the fire with words –
truth incandescent, your hands, your mouth, my hair, laughter in the dark
perhaps it will burn the whole house down.


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