call me kindling
but I want to light a fire
in your eyes, a deep cleansing
burn to douse right-side up,
brightly

symphonic voice

held fast, dripping senses
(scoured streams if only)
lifting
off the sky and placing this
beneath rocks in cool blue
water, tentative red card-stock
hearts warmed up like heated
mattress covers in a soon-to-be
natural and slow-melting cottage

tethered happily to your
waving dock of
chamomile acclaim