[ CC ] Melody's Fingertips

    
Dry logs in the stone pit, consumed    
quicker than Indian Summers    
   
in crackling pops, sweep    
dustbunnied quiet under rugs;    
   
serenade complements my cello    
frame being played to its tune.    
   
Melody's fingertips strumming;    
my instruments gauging spikes    
   
Sparks fly before either of us    
realizes we are out of control    
   
---wild fires converging    
in unorchestrated infernos    
   
These flames of ours licking    
long into the late hours    
   
She, burning away my dark    
   
I, reveling inn'er light