Fire
Fire.
The element of destruction, yet everything’s beginning,
It seems.
Is it fire that I’m feeling? Tasting? Vibrating in the space between our warm bodies
Like when we were 10, lying on our backs in the summer heat during soccer practice, watching as ghostly waves danced over the artificially greened turf.
I say fire, for lack of a better word.
An effort to personify,
This terrifying
Exhilarating
Unfamiliar
Feeling.
Is it a feeling?
I question “feeling.” I question the reality of “feeling.”
Because I know my mind is a powerful thing.
Like a Boggart, transforming, amalgamating, skin like silly puddy,
Like “9 Hail Mary’s” easing the quarreling guilt of a sinner
Telling me “this is fire!” because a flame is still a flame…
Even if it’s rising placidly from the calculated safety of a stove, rather than thrashing fervently, uninhibitedly, from a brooding cloud?
Wanting,
Yearning,
Like an impotent hamster suckling through a pitiful straw
For that wispy thread of reality stingily interwoven through the plots of movies and books that epitomized lost years.
Does it really exist?
This “fire”?
Your eyes burning into mine
Into my belly, my chest, my groin
Though it extinguishes so quickly, leaving only a haze of memory?
The smoky remnants of what I had once felt, with no trace,
A vacant chill.
And it’s frightening
To think of the unearthly speed that the intense ferocity of your flame
Can burn out.
Can something so impermanent be real?
Or is it just this creature of my mind?
Lusting me
Baiting me
With promises reality can not suffice?
Of a great ship, when in truth,
He is only a life boat.
