No matter how dark the bedroom,
I can always see your eyes
Seeing mine.

Sometimes your hands follow;
Find my face or other
Skin.

Mine may reply, reach to
Feel, draw to kiss.
And there is fire in this.

No matter how dark the day.
Clouds heavy with rain promising
Thunder:  

A child with a toy on the floor,
Undaunted; preoccupied,
Leaving worry to us grown-ups

Gathering pillows from balconies;
Seeing a storm as more than it is.
There is fire in this.

I've held shaking hands over a
Keyboard wet with tears, trying,
Trying to put words

On the burning within; the
Heart broken and rebroken
Until it needed

Stitches and staples
To hold together, finally
Finding faint flickering flames

Deep within the darkest darkness
Of that abyss. Whispering relieved:

*There is fire in this...