this fire

and when did I become this fire?

that you all flutter oh-so-close

but never near enough to touch?


and what happens then?

when wings meet flame?

the sweetness is brief

and it always ends in death.


is that why you merely hover near

but never come close enough to touch?


this cliche, so near yet so far,

is maddening, and I burn

brighter into a deep red

and then more come

called upon by my angered brilliance


this space between us is the killer,

not me,

and if I could leave this wick

I would in an instant

but I am anchored here

made stationary by a need for fuel


but I am a flame, I am this fire

and it is my warmth that brings you here

and one day there will be a moth

who will not fear death

and breach that empty barrier


and kiss me

with the fluttering of their wings

kiss me


and this moth will not die.

his body will fall but he, too,

will become this fire



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