You are fire.
And I can burn
the warm of the title at the start.
Could you? Burnout?
Cause you still burns me inside.

It's ironic how you like it cool and fresh
You're not cool and you're not air.
You are fire.
A breath inducing and breathtaking
hell of a paradise.

Constantly I spread around:
"Fire is my favorite!"
But you never understood.
You always thought that is a childish reminder,
like this poem.
But it's honest.

I couldn't reach you last time, you know?
I felt like a kid running over a flambeau.
And you figured me out.
You saw under the flame mask,
You made my Icarus task,
and I fallen down.

After all this time and I'm not consumed.
Maybe a fool and maybe a loser,
but you're the vanity of my veins.
And you're slowly provoking me again.
Could you teach me how to fire?
Could you? This time? My dear...
I bring reinforced wings.