You are fire in the night.

A glittering sigh whispers across an indigo canvas, painting pinpricks of cool light along its way.
The stars shine coldly from their pockets in the sky.
But you.

You are fire in the night.

The moon-washed trees shiver beneath the cool gaze of the stars.
The stars. They are ice, they are snow, they are a biting winter wind.

But you.

You are fire in the night.

A ribbon of river dances off into the fading evening sun.
I am tiptoes in the day; in the day, I fall like water.
In the day, I want to stay; in the day, I do not falter.
But by darkness, I am dust.
I am flammable in the night.
Like the trees, I am moon-washed
         (in fact, I am moon-dusted)
and like the trees, I shiver beneath the cool gaze of the stars.
But you.

You are fire in the night.

You are fire in the night, and I
I

                I

                         combust

               as you approach.