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,
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
and this moth will not die.
his body will fall but he, too,
will become this fire