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DoriangrayismePoems
You can tell the quality of the fire from the way the smoke billows. You watch it from the porch, counting the seconds between the grey curls and the way the wind catches the soot, turning it into a fine, black lace against the blue of the afternoon. ------------------------------------------------------------------ You’re thinking about the silver— if it needs polishing. You’re thinking about the door hinge that squeaks every time the cat pushes through. ------------------------------------------------------------------ You’re holding a glass of water, and the ice is melting against your palm, a small, cold comfort while the air begins to taste like copper. ------------------------------------------------------------------ What you can’t tell is the moment the air turns from a warning into a weapon. ------------------------------------------------------------------ Whether you’ll get blisters— a sudden, stinging bloom across your knuckles as you reach for the handle. Or if you’ll simply stand there, still holding that lukewarm glass, and see your house burn. — Around — you. ------------------------------------------------------------------ TiB
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Apr 21
Apr 21, 2026 at 8:04 PM UTC
The Quality of Fire
You can tell the quality of the fire from the way the smoke billows. You watch it from the porch, counting the seconds between the grey curls and the way the wind catches the soot, turning it into a fine, black lace against the blue of the afternoon. ------------------------------------------------------------------ You’re thinking about the silver— if it needs polishing. You’re thinking about the door hinge that squeaks every time the cat pushes through. ------------------------------------------------------------------ You’re holding a glass of water, and the ice is melting against your palm, a small, cold comfort while the air begins to taste like copper. ------------------------------------------------------------------ What you can’t tell is the moment the air turns from a warning into a weapon. ------------------------------------------------------------------ Whether you’ll get blisters— a sudden, stinging bloom across your knuckles as you reach for the handle. Or if you’ll simply stand there, still holding that lukewarm glass, and see your house burn. — Around — you. ------------------------------------------------------------------ TiB
It begins quietly enough Noticed for nothing at all.
#fire#play#metallic#poetry#environment#glow#in#the#dark
Doriangrayisme
Written by
Doriangrayisme
37/NB
Apr 21
Apr 21, 2026 at 8:04 PM UTC
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