call me kindling but I want to light a fire in your eyes, a deep cleansing burn to douse right-side up, brightly
symphonic voice
held fast, dripping senses (scoured streams if only) lifting off the sky and placing this beneath rocks in cool blue water, tentative red card-stock hearts warmed up like heated mattress covers in a soon-to-be natural and slow-melting cottage
tethered happily to your waving dock of chamomile acclaim