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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)


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