Image for the poem in thee i burn

in thee i burn

there are love stories that are made of fire.
but fire burns in many directions.

love is lust, & lust is love: we dance to the music of it.
somewhere the siren calls, & we go.

there is a terrible desire within me that advances into the
tangled sheets of enamored paramours; so easily does
poetry seduce, the poetry of loneliness.

and I feel that she has a cadre of men waiting to take my
place, captives of her austere & lonely erotica. she gives
all of herself naked, to be held by savage hands.

too soon, too hastily, do I utter words that are meant to
bind a woman to me, augmented by my stone fear of
solitude. I have many words today, & tomorrow I have
none, none at all.

we love until it incinerates us, then we are the craven
who walk away from the ashes.

she tells me that I pour kerosene over her.
then she waits, without weeping, without feeling anything;
waits for me to light the match…

(Artist unknown)

Written by JohnFeddeler
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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