We're both the same element
but she's wildfire
and I'm a weapons maker
the tempered blacksmith
too distant in his own work
over planning a "good use"
for all my passions

I presumed to craft a spear
150,000 ft at least
I'll **** and **** away in silence
sipping coffee in my low hearth haven
In hopes you wonder how I really feel
and perhaps spill fire *****-nilly
embers annoying friends and family
catch the drapes inadvertently

Will this distance vow we agreed upon without metaphor
be mended through silent adhering
Or is the Lady of the Ram waiting
for a golden armor gesture
Where I appear unannounced
and we'll turn your wild fire into iron flowers

For now, I stare at my forge
going blind.