Smouldering
Stub at my fingertips,
You are the red sun among the white.
I fill the room with perfume and incense —
Still you challenge me
And pin me to the polished floor.
You cannot reach me underwater —
There only your scent lingers,
Rising with the steam
And lurking above me.

What strength would it take
To fling you to the ground
And crush you in one swift twist?

What coughing fit to ensue
When you, afraid
Proceed to maim my lungs?

It's you or me, pale finger —
One of us to be extinguished before our time.
One of us to read the signs,
And one of us to ignore them.
I lit you on a flickering candle,
Spilled ash and wax
Of a long, drawn-out ******.