Fire

The memory of you  
Is like poking at fire with a stick.  
The warmth seeps through me  
Like whiskey humming through my soul.
The embers dance in my eyes  
Like the spark you left behind,
But it's dying.  
I remember when I said  
I'd walk through hell  
Just to hold your hand,
But now this heart of mine  
Flickers like a lonely coal  
At the bottom of the pile  
Growing cold.