He remembers the night they first met,
Alone in the woods,
Cradling her in his arms,
She was just kindling then,
Fractured and frail.
He took her to his cabin,
Where his only company
Was the chill that hugged his bones
And the gentle whispers
Of creaking wood.
He laid her down on the hearth,
A bed of coal and shredded paper
Soothed her splintered skin
And she nestled deep into
With a match in hand
He knelt beside her,
And with one strike
He pierced her skin
And she was transformed.
Her heart raged,
A blazing beauty
That filled the room,
A sweltering spectacle
That would bring the Sun to its knees.
The Woodsman watched in awe,
Perplexed by the way she swayed,
The way she devoured the icy air
And exuded such radiance
He had to look away.
The butterflies in his stomach
Further fanned the flames,
And she reached out eagerly
To hold his hand
And entwine her fingers with his.
The Woodsman knew it would burn,
But playing with fire never seemed so enticing,
To feel her scorch his soul,
Feel the rush as flesh and flame
Seductively entangle in an unforgettable inferno.
And when the black night thickened,
When shadows ceased to dance on the walls,
The woodsman will always remember
When he danced in the flames
And made love in the embers.
© L.J. Chaplin