Blue flames licking at your ****** feet,
Heavy smoke filling the small room,
What are you doing here?

Nerves tickling as they feel the intense heat,
Realising the end of your life is soon,
What are you dreaming of, my dear?

“Ah, riddles,” the voice purred, “Are they not simply wonderful?
To mull your mind over a simple description of an item,
to have the answer staring at you,
And yet, it remains so elusive…"

I have no legs to dance,
and yet to no sound do I dance.
I have no eyes to see,
and yet with ease, a certain trail I can follow.
I can be useful, I can be harmful,
but cold is something I shall never be.

A familiar scent in the air,
a rumbling sound in the sky,
a raindrop landing on your hair,
as we hug for one last goodbye.