Ardor

Twisting tongues of
fire rise against my
fevered judgment, a
night bereft of the
warmth of another.
So easy to kindle, but
the flames jump
their stones,
spreading through the
grass like desire's
will to live. Every-
thing catches in
time, and soon, an
uproarious inferno
swells as if waves in
an ocean and ig-
nites the heart above, for
what is this life if not a
passionate one? Pray for
thoughts; pray that the
night has yet to steal the
day and forge your
armor in the furnaces.
Hope upon hope that
it's the light that takes
us.